Putting the Question
by dettiot
Summary: Set a year from Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in LA, making friends and building a new life for himself. Final version will be archived on website.
1. Chapter One

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.   
  
Summary: Set a year from Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in LA, making friends and building a new life for himself.  
  
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Cindy and Miriam for their help, and to Mezz for the fantabulous beta.   
  
Text with // indicates a flashback sequence.  
  
"I don't know Who - or what - put the question, I don't know when it was put. I don't even remember answering. But at some moment I did answer *Yes* to Someone - or Something - and from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore, my life, in self-surrender, had a goal." Dag Hammarskjold  
  
"If I tell you I'm in love with you, I'm telling you something about me. It's about how I feel about you, how you make me feel. It's about the way I feel when you're there, and the way I feel when you're not.   
  
If I tell you I love you, I'm telling you something about you." the_royal_anna's LJ  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Spike had never been one to deny that unlife could be pretty damn good. Prior to his years in Sunnydale, he'd almost never thought about the drawbacks, only the perks. He could have anything he craved, anyone he wanted. Of course, he had only really wanted Dru. Thought they'd be together forever. She was the first woman in his life, and he thought she'd be the only.   
  
But even from the beginning, she had seemed to know that a time would come when he wouldn't be hers anymore. She loved him in her simple, crazy way, but it hadn't been enough for him.  
  
Of course, the fact that she also loved Angelus could have had something to do with that.   
  
So, unless he thought of such niggling facts as his sire's dependence and desire for her sire, he had been pretty happy. He had good times, dancing through carnage and death with his wicked plum at his side.   
  
Yes, life as a vampire could be good. He'd needed to remind himself of that fact during his last two years in Sunnydale when he had started feeling old, started realizing for the first time how many years he had survived on this planet. He felt tired, and out of touch, something he had never felt since the night he'd been reborn. Not even staking his mother had taken so much out of him.   
  
But it was understandable. That had been a clean break, and he had quickly buried the events deep down. But those years in Sunnydale, there had been nothing clean or forgotten about those dark days. He had been forced to look at all the things he had done, and see all the ways that he was unnatural. See how existence wasn't the best thing since warm blood. And the very thing he craved was that which made him suffer all the more.   
  
Spike sighed, and turned around in his desk chair to look out the window. The special glass in the windows of Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles office meant he could enjoy sunshine without worrying about the nasty side effects. Yet it couldn't compare to actually being outside, feeling the warmth on his skin, like he had with the Gem of Amara.   
  
Like the warmth he had felt with Buffy.   
  
Spike jumped up from his chair, and stalked out of the small office that Angel had finally deigned to grant him. He wasn't about to sit around brooding just because it was the anniversary of the day he had appeared in Angel's office, popping out of that bloody amulet like some demented Athena.   
  
He chuckled a bit at the image of himself springing forth from Angel's head, like in the Greek myth, as he made his way to the workout facility that was set up on the tenth floor. It was officially for all W&H employees, but it had long ago been taken over by Spike, and was his second office. He took in a deep breath as he entered the room, letting his worries drop off his shoulders like the weight of the duster he took off at the same time. Then, with the grace born of over a century's worth of fighting, he began moving.   
  
Punches, kicks, spins and leaps. He ranged across the mats, letting himself think only about the next move he was going to make. You couldn't be distracted when you were fighting, or you got hurt.   
  
Or even worse, someone else got hurt.  
  
***  
  
//He had finally conceded that he might as well be part of the team. It was galling to do, but he wanted his spot of violence, and he was tired of always protesting that he didn't want to help. It was hard to keep insisting that he didn't care about Angel's little inner circle, but he couldn't deny what was clear to everyone: he had friends. For the first time ever, he really had friends.  
  
Fred, the scientist with the cute noggin, and even more amazingly, sympathy for everyone, even him. Wesley, who saw the world in the same shades of grey that he did and offered a unique kind of comfort to Spike. Gunn, his drinking buddy and poker partner. Even Lorne was all right, as long as he didn't make Spike sing.   
  
Spike was even starting to get along with Angel, and if that wasn't a sign that he was part of the crew, he didn't know what did.   
  
So, he had stopped his complaining, and had made overtures to Angel that he'd be willing to help with cases. Angel, after some distrust, had grudgingly agreed to let Spike assist the team with the firm's latest client, some two-bit demon with too many connections and too many evil ideas. It should have been a piece of cake.   
  
Roverall demons were notoriously bad at hand-to-hand combat, so he'd been sure that between Angel, Gunn, and himself, they'd be able to take the guy out, especially with Fred and Wesley as back-up. Yet Roveralls were also known for being smarter than they were given credit for. So, they'd been caught off guard when a dozen Ck'FivNins had come out of the woodwork and started attacking. But he'd just dived in and started fighting, ignoring Angel's half-heard shout for everyone to get out of the building.   
  
And while he was being all fists and fangs, one of the Ck'FivNins had grabbed Wes and proceeded to beat him to a pulp.   
  
He had realized something was wrong when he took care of the last demon, because it was too quiet. Too quiet, except for Wes' moans. For stoic Wesley to moan, he knew it was very bad. And all he could think about was the fact that he had let one of his friends get hurt.   
  
Spike had felt the numbness settle over him. He looked around, until his eyes landed on the Roverall, crouching against a wall.   
  
He strode over and yanked up the short little demon. He glared at the creature, unable to say anything, and then he realized he was punching the demon, clawing at him, tearing him to shreds. He kept going, until a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, managed to make him pause.   
  
"Spike, stop. I need you to take care of Fred."  
  
It was only because it was Angel, and because he mentioned Fred, that Spike was able to stop systematically destroying the Roverall. He dropped the remains to the floor, and rested his forehead against the wall for a moment, trying to collect himself. Then, he pushed away, and turned to face Angel.   
  
Angel looked at him, without expression, and then said, "Take Fred back to the office. Gunn and I'll get Wes to the hospital."  
  
Spike nodded, and took Fred's hand. She didn't squirm at all, despite his hand being covered in guts and blood. They made their way back to W&H, where he had attacked the punching bag till his own blood mixed with the Roverall's. Then, he had gone to Fred, and she had helped him clean his hands, and had held his now-clean hand as he had let his feelings out.   
  
And he realized that this was what friends did. Held your hand when you were ready to start crying out of anger and guilt and sorrow. Before this, Dawn was the closest thing to a friend that he had, but he'd never felt like he could do this with her. Couldn't drop the Big Bad image then, could he? Especially since she was so young, and she needed him to be strong, to protect her. But now, he didn't have to worry about protecting anyone.   
  
So he let his friend help him.//  
  
***  
  
That incident had been a turning point. Spike paused in his workout, and took a sip from a water bottle, as he pondered the way he had embraced the new friends he'd found. They had accepted him in ways the Scoobies had never even attempted. He had needed their support at that time; Angel and he were at each other's throats constantly over their history and the Shanshu prophecy. Fred in particular was a godsend in dealing with the anger and frustration he felt about Angel, as well as the rejection he felt.   
  
Gradually, he had been able to see each of them in their own lights. Wes was great to watch football with, and had a fondness for a good drink. Gunn was the one to go out with when you just wanted to party and get hammered. Lorne and he could swap stories about demons in the entertainment business for hours.   
  
Yet he couldn't seem to talk to Angel without starting a fight. He knew it bothered Fred, and the others weren't happy that the two vampires could barely work together. They could focus on the work for the bare minimum of time needed to accomplish the goal, but then they'd be back to insults and punches.   
  
It was almost like a repeat of his relationship with Buffy. Spike snorted, and went over to the punching bag, not bothering to tape his hands.   
  
Sometimes he liked the pain.  
  
***  
  
//"What the hell were you thinking?" Angel said through gritted teeth. "I told you to follow Nega to the warehouse and then watch the exits. I didn't say anything about crashing a ritual that had seventeen Sw'Ali demons participating!"  
  
Spike wiped some of the blood out of his eyes and glared at his grandsire. "And I told you, if I had waited for the rest of you, the victims would have been killed. I made the call, Angel, and if you can't accept that, then I'm not going to keep wasting my time."   
  
"Your time? You've been nothing but a waste of time and space since the day Drusilla brought you to our hotel. I should have staked you then."  
  
"Maybe you should have! That would have been the only time you could have taken me--when I was fresh out of the ground!" Spike's voice was loud and echoed off the walls of the alley where the two vampires stood. He moved closer to Angel, his body language confrontational. "After all, you've slowed down with age. Can't quite cut it anymore, can you, gramps?"   
  
With a snarl, Angel threw a punch at Spike. Spike dodged, and laughed as his fist connected with Angel's face. "Come on, Angel, show me how you know so much more than I do. Show me how you're better than me, faster than me, stronger than me. Oh, wait," he said, as he knocked Angel to the ground. "You're not any of those things, are you?" He smirked at Angel, who lay on the ground at his feet. He felt such power now, knowing that he could beat Angel. After decades of never winning, he knew he could take Angel.  
  
Angel coughed, and spit some blood out of his mouth and onto his shirt. "Sure, Spike. Whatever you say. You da man." His voice was mocking and ironic.   
  
Spike growled, and bent over and grabbed Angel by the lapels of his jacket. "What will it take for you to bloody respect me?" he yelled, before he pulled Angel up and slammed him against a wall. "Why can't you admit that I'm just as good as you are?" He threw another punch, but Angel's palm caught his fist.   
  
Angel's face was passive as he began speaking. "You were a scrap of a man before Dru turned you, but you were more alive, more human, than any vampire should be. And I hated you for that."  
  
Spike started in surprise at Angel's words. "You always mocked me for associating with the food. For worrying about Dru so much. For jumping into the middle of a mob."  
  
Angel shrugged. "It wasn't in my nature to do any of those things. And I envied you for it, because you made things look so simple. Even before I got my soul back, I always wanted to kick your ass. I had to stay angry so I wouldn't be jealous."  
  
Spike dropped his hands from Angel's coat, and took two steps back. "But you had everything I wanted," he said, his voice incredulous. "You were the top of the mountain. You had Darla, and all you had to do was crook your pinky at Dru and she'd leave me and go running to you. You were feared by vampires in every place we visited. No one wanted to be on your bad side."  
  
"Except you," Angel said with a grimace as he pushed off from the wall. He walked over and stood by Spike.  
  
"Yeah, funny, isn't it?" Spike said, still trying to adjust to the idea that Angel envied him.  
  
"Well, I blamed it on your hair. The bleach, you know."  
  
Spike looked at Angel in confusion. "I didn't bleach my hair till 1974!"  
  
"Huh," Angel said. "Well, it was definitely your hair that made you different." With that non-sequitor, Angel walked down the length of the alley to the street. He paused, and called back to Spike, "You coming?"  
  
Spike stared at his feet, still trying to come to grips with everything. He realized Angel had spoken, and quickly moved to catch up with him. "Yeah, I'm coming."  
  
They stood in silence for a moment, waiting to cross the street, and then Spike said quickly, "Not my fault my hair didn't hang around like spaghetti. What was up with that look, anyway?"  
  
"Hey, now, Darla loved it."  
  
Spike snorted. "Darla, oh yeah, there's a real arbitrator on fashion for you. What about those kimonos she insisted on wearing anytime we were in Asia? Made her stick out even more with the blonde hair and all."   
  
Their voices faded as they walked towards Angel's car, snarking about hair and clothes and their shared history, not realizing that they had taken the first step towards a new relationship.//  
  
***   
  
"Yo, bleach boy."  
  
Gunn's voice pulled Spike's concentration from his sparring. He turned and favored him with a grin. "Seeing as how I know you're jealous of my hair, I'll overlook that comment."  
  
Gunn rubbed his hand over his head, which he'd recently shaved after losing a bet with Spike. "Yeah, jealous. Right."   
  
Spike walked over and grabbed a towel, rubbing the sweat off his face. "Got something going on tonight, Charlie boy?"  
  
"Other than knocking back a few beers to celebrate your return to unlife, nope."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow at Gunn, and the other man laughed. "Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't know about how you were brooding in your office, and as soon as you realized what you were doing, you came down here."  
  
"Don't you have some demon widow out there to put in the poorhouse, instead of spying on good employees like yours truly?" Spike complained.   
  
"Not when you are the good employee in question. Come on, there's a deep-fried onion that's calling our names."   
  
"Give me fifteen minutes to shower, and we're off."   
  
Gunn nodded and ambled out of the room. Spike finished toweling off, and headed for the small bathroom that was attached to the gym, first grabbing a change of clothes out of the closet.   
  
A little drinking, a little conversation, was just what he needed to take his mind off his thoughts. It must have been the anniversary, he pondered, making him think about Buffy. No one around here would let him forget her, so it wasn't like she was ever that far from his thoughts, but there were days he was able to not think about her at all. But that never ended well.   
  
***  
  
//It had been a week from hell, full of clients who wanted vampire blood for their dark rituals, a spell to cleanse the smell of yak urine out of carpets, or a date for the Oscars. Spike shuffled his way into Angel's office and collapsed on the sofa, letting out a groan.  
  
"That kind of day for you, too?" Angel commented, looking up from a file.  
  
"More that kind of week," Spike commented dryly. "Please tell me that Bronte called you and said everything was a go for tomorrow."  
  
Angel nodded. "Ritual is a go. Of course, they won't know it's gonna backfire until the end, but they're satisfied, and after they use that booby-trapped spell, they won't be coming back to us to complain about our product."  
  
"Brilliant," Spike said, and let his eyes close. "What day is today? Of the month, I mean. I've been working so much, I've lost track."  
  
"Are you trying to say I'm a slave-driver, or that you deserve a raise?"  
  
Spike opened one eye and looked at Angel. "To get a raise, I'd need to be paid something first. But a definite yes to the whole slave-driver thing."  
  
"I'm the boss. Can't make exceptions for family," Angel said with a touch of dark humor.  
  
"Family?" Spike said, feeling a bit surprised. Angel wasn't one to toss around that term lightly, and especially not considering him.   
  
Angel shrugged. "Just been thinking about it lately."  
  
Spike looked at Angel again, wondering what directions his mind was taking, but he let the moment pass. "Yeah. The date?" he prodded Angel.  
  
Angel glanced at his desk calendar. "It's the 21st."  
  
"The 21st," Spike mumbled under his breath. "That sounds familiar . . . " Suddenly, he realized what today was, and he sat up quickly.  
  
"What is it?" Angel asked curiously. Then, his own eyes widened. "Buffy's birthday."  
  
Spike nodded. "Yep. Completely forgot until now. Slayer's made it to 23. Breaks her old record for being the oldest Slayer still working." He looked down at his shoes. "Not that we know if she's still working."  
  
A thick silence fell between them. They hadn't talked about Buffy since that no-holds-barred fight over the Cup of Infernal Dew, as Spike had dubbed it in his head. But each of them knew that Buffy had not contacted the other one. None of the Sunnydale gang, in fact, were in contact with them. Even Wes had expressed surprise that Giles hadn't returned his phone calls about the potential re-creation of the Watcher's Council. It was almost like their existence had been wiped out, along with the town.   
  
But lack of contact didn't mean that Spike didn't think about Buffy. Didn't wonder what she was doing at this very moment, where she was. Whether she ever thought about him. And he was pretty sure that Angel wondered the same thing. And for that very reason, they had chosen not to jeopardize the relationship they had slowly started building by talking about the woman they both loved.  
  
Angel cleared his throat. "I wonder if she's had a good birthday."  
  
Spike snorted. "Knowing the Slayer, it's unlikely. She didn't even celebrate the last one. Said with everything that was going on with the First, she didn't want the chaos that her birthday inevitably brought." He suddenly remembered how Buffy's string of bad birthdays had begun, and he closed his eyes in guilt. Yeah, sure, he hated Angel most of the time, but he knew the feeling of loving yet not having Buffy. "Angel . . ." he said, his voice regretful.  
  
"Forget it," Angel said, standing up from his chair. He started shoving papers into folders, giving the appearance of someone cleaning off his desk at the end of a long day. But Spike could see the tension in his shoulders.  
  
"Angel."   
  
The other vampire stopped, and turned to look at Spike. "What?" he said icily.   
  
"You still haven't forgiven yourself for losing your soul, have you?" Spike asked, already knowing the answer. "That's as bad as not having Buffy, right? The knowledge that you could cause her that much pain, and it was all your fault . . ."   
  
"Don't need a recap, Spike. I was there, you know," Angel said angrily.   
  
"Yeah, you were. You still are, even now. Even when Sunnydale's nothing more than a big hole in the ground."  
  
"Like you're one to talk," Angel muttered. "You think Buffy's out there, waiting for you? News flash, William. She's not pining away after you. No more than she is for me."  
  
Spike rose from the sofa, feeling the instinctive anger flare up. But he'd learned when to control the anger instead of giving in to the urge to bait Angel further. He strolled over and leaned against the wall, looking at his grandsire. "No, I don't expect Buffy to be carrying a torch for me. We were . . . friends, I guess, by the end. But I know she didn't love me. Not like she loved you, much as I hate to say it," he said with a groan. "Yet you left her, because you couldn't deal with the temptation, the memories."  
  
Angel sighed, and stood next to Spike against the wall. "And your point is?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "I stayed around. Kept coming back for more, because I had to be near her, you know? No matter what pain she dished out. And it was worth it--every moment I spent with her was worth it." He stopped talking for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts. "But now, she's living the normal girl life, and I'll most certainly never be normal. So, it looks like me and you are gonna be stuck together for a while." Spike paused. "I'm trying to figure out how you do it."   
  
"How I do what?"  
  
Spike shoved his hands into the pockets of his duster. "Live without her."  
  
Angel pushed away from the wall, and headed towards the elevator to his apartment. He pushed the button, the doors opened with a soft whoosh, and Angel stepped inside. But before the doors closed, Angel said, "I don't."//  
  
***  
  
Spike stepped out of the shower, drying off and getting dressed quickly. Thoughts of his "birthday" had reminded him of the conversations Angel and he had slowly begun having after their talk on Buffy's birthday. More often than not, one of them stomped away, or even threw an occasional punch to end the conversation. But before that happened, each of them had begun to learn more about the other. They were finally getting to the point where they could co-exist together, semi-peacefully.   
  
Amazing how you could get along with someone, when that someone wasn't constantly belittling you or ignoring you.   
  
Plus, it helped to have the rest of the gang on his side occasionally during the fights that Angel and he had. Always nice to see Angel getting laid into by his own employees. He still laughed over the time Lorne had started humming "Mandy" during one of Angel's rants. Angel had stopped mid-word, and Wesley and Gunn had burst into whoops of laughter. Fred had started giggling to the point where she could hardly breathe. And Spike had just sat back and enjoyed it all.  
  
He chuckled to himself as he headed upstairs to meet up with Gunn. But when he entered the lobby, he was shocked to find it full of people. He stood just inside the doorway, amazed to see half the company there, as well as several of L.A.'s best demons.   
  
"Nice of you to be nearly on time to your birthday party," Gunn said with a slap on Spike's shoulder.   
  
"What the bloody hell is all this?" Spike asked in surprise.  
  
Gunn gave him a long look. "Birthday party. You've never told anyone when your birthday was when you were human, or even the day you were turned. Angel wouldn't tell, either. So Fred and I put our heads together and decided to make today your birthday."  
  
Spike shook his head in amazement. "Why would you do something like that for me?"  
  
"Other than an excuse to party on Angel's dime? Because you deserve it." With that, Gunn moved away, going to mingle with some of his cronies from the Urban Intervention Department.  
  
Spike couldn't help just looking around, wondering how in the world he had gotten here. Why he had people that seemed to care about him. Didn't seem right. Not what he was used to.  
  
"You look a bit surprised," Angel commented as he pressed a mug into Spike's hand.  
  
Spike drank, barely tasting the blood, before speaking. "Surprised is an understatement."  
  
"Fred's idea, really. She recruited Gunn, and they went to town, as you can see," Angel said.   
  
"Don't know why they bothered," Spike said. "No one else ever has."  
  
"I believe that's why I encouraged them to go ahead when the two of them asked me about how you'd feel about the idea."  
  
"What?" Spike said, turning to Angel.   
  
Angel looked at Spike for a moment, his expression blank but meaningful just the same. "Happy birthday, Spike."  
  
Spike didn't know what to say, so he glanced down at his boots, and then looked out at the crowd. "Been a hell of a year," he said finally, realizing how far he had come in such a short time. For a vampire, a year was a blink of an eye. Taking stock of your life wasn't done, really, so birthdays became meaningless pretty quickly. But Spike thought that vampires were missing out by not indulging in such events. Why not celebrate another year of unlife, another year that you'd avoided death?   
  
Besides, presents were bloody fabulous.   
  
Ignorant of Spike's thoughts, Angel responded to Spike's last statement. "Never would have guessed you'd make it," he said. "If nothing else, I'd have expected you to go chasing after Buffy."  
  
Spike sighed. "I'm not sure about that, myself."  
  
He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Angel whip his head around to stare at Spike. "What?"  
  
Spike gazed out at the people dancing, laughing, talking to their friends. Before he spoke, he grabbed a beer from a passing waiter, and took a long swig. "She hasn't been in touch with either of us. She had Giles call the love of her life to tell him that she'd made it through another apocalypse, all 'don't call me, I'll call you.'" Spike sighed. "I'll love the girl till I'm dust. But that's what she thinks I am, right now. So I think I'm learning how to live without her."  
  
He could sense Angel trying to find words, and true to form, Angel reverted to cliches. "It's probably for the best. It's easier that way."  
  
"Never said it was easy, mate," Spike ground out. He sighed. "I could find her, yeah. And I could follow her around again, being faithful old Spike, pet vampire. I don't have any prophecies or magical mystical surprises waiting for me at the end of the road--I'm only responsible for myself. So there's nothing stopping me." He took a deep breath, if only to make himself be calm enough to say the next sentence. "Nothing stopping me, except me."  
  
Angel opened his mouth, getting ready to speak, when his secretary's shrill voice halted his words.   
  
"Oh, Spikey!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I know that vampires don't celebrate birthdays, but happy birthday!"  
  
"Thanks, Harm," Spike said, his voice a mixture of sincerity and irritation.  
  
"It was my idea to have the party here. We haven't had one since Halloween."   
  
"Well, most people who were at that party didn't want to think 'party' and 'Wolfram and Hart' anytime soon, Harmony," Angel said.  
  
"It wasn't like that many people got killed," Harmony said with a toss of her hair.  
  
Angel and Spike shot a look at each other. Harmony's ditzy California girl personality being stronger than her demon had always been a source of amusement for the two of them. Once again, she hadn't failed to live up to the stereotype.   
  
Harmony turned to Spike. "Come on, dance with me, Spike!"   
  
"I told you I don't dance," Spike said.   
  
"Oh, come on! You're like the guest of honor. You have to dance!"   
  
"As the guest of honor, doesn't that mean I should be able to do whatever I want? Or, whatever I don't want?" Spike asked, smirking at her.  
  
Harmony only sighed, and pulled him onto the dance floor. "I promise I won't make any comments about a certain Slayer. So dance with me."  
  
Spike sighed, but gave in. It was easier than continuing to argue with the silly bint, and besides . . . besides, he wanted to dance with someone. Put his arms around a woman, and hold her, and feel her touching him. He could barely remember the last time he danced; he wanted to say it had been with Drusilla. He was still haunted by the time he was incorporeal, and sometimes had nightmares that he had returned to that state. So, tonight he chose to dance with his ex, and not think about the fact that he was celebrating a year that had been spent without Buffy.  
  
He leaned into Harmony, resting his face against her hair. This felt good. He felt good.  
  
A memory floated to the surface of his thoughts. His fight with Angel, talking about that stupid cup, saying 'it's my destiny.' Trying to claim something else that was most likely to be Angel's in the end. At the time, he had thought that beating Angel was the only goal, the only destiny left to him.  
  
Perhaps, though, this was what he was really looking for. The chance to make his own destiny.   
  
A destiny without Buffy.  
  
Throughout this year, he had suffered again and again. The disorientation of his return, the agony of being incorporeal, getting sucked into hell. Forced to bite his tongue and work with Angel, learning how to be a friend and a team player. Through all those struggles, there had been good times, yes. But he had still held onto the idea of Buffy. That if he made it through all this, at some point she'd be there, waiting for him. Like a reward.  
  
Like the way Angel thought of the Shanshu prophecy. But Angel had stopped believing in the Shanshu. Said it was a load of crap, and that he wasn't working for that, wasn't expecting it. His actions belied that, but Angel still said he didn't care.  
  
Perhaps it was time that he gave up the idea of being rewarded. Maybe there was no reward, just death waiting for him at the end of this second trip on Earth.  
  
Maybe it was time to give up the pipe dream and face reality. He would never have Buffy.  
  
Spike bit his lip, and closed his eyes. Just thinking it was painful. It was one thing to tell yourself something, and quite another to finally realize it.   
  
"You're so tense," Harmony murmured, smoothing her fingers across his shoulders. "Stop thinking."  
  
Spike opened his eyes, and pushed aside his thoughts, imagined shoving his thoughts into a closet and triple-locking it. "Sorry, pet. It's the birthday, you know--leads to deep thoughts."  
  
She grinned up at him. "I liked you better when you were all impulsive and mean. We had a lot more fun when you were like that."  
  
Spike moved away from Harmony, and stared at her for a moment. "Well, maybe it's time I had a little fun," he said with a grin, and pulled her closer to him, feeling her curves press against his body. And as he tightened his grip on her, he tried to ignore what his brain was saying over and over. This was his life and it was good, even if it didn't have Buffy in it.   
  
"Yeah, unlife is pretty damn good," he whispered to himself, and tried not to think about how he seemed to be lying to himself.  
  
End, Chapter 1 


	2. Chapter Two

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.   
  
Summary: Set a year from Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in LA, making friends and building a new life for himself.  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The morning after his "birthday," Spike awoke with a splitting headache and a blonde vampire in his bed.   
  
He groaned as he sat up, both from his head and from realizing he'd slept with Harmony. He was obviously a stupid git who couldn't learn from his mistakes at all. Harmony started moving, and he cursed himself for making any noise. He braced himself for clinging and pleas for committment.  
  
Harmony rolled over and looked at Spike. "Morning. I'll be out of here in a minute--just want to shower, if you don't mind."  
  
Spike stared at Harmony as she got out of bed, wrapping a blanket around herself. "What? You're not going to start calling me 'Blondie Bear' and expecting dates every Friday night with a suitable floral arrangement following on Monday for a 'lovely evening together'?"   
  
Harmony snorted. "Yeah, as if. Like I'd want to get involved with you again. I'm not stupid. I know this was just sex." She paused, and gave him a once-over. "Doesn't mean I don't want a repeat at some point."  
  
"What? You want to be shag buddies?" Spike felt like his brain was a wound-down watch, ticking way too slowly to be effective.  
  
"Well, I'm single, you're single, I guess. I mean, yeah, Slayer-loving freak, but still, she's not around, and it's not like you're saving yourself for her. So why not have some fun?" Harmony said, in a perfect mingling of Valley Girl and vampire logic. At Spike's expression, she rolled her eyes. "It's not like we haven't done it before. So, you up for it?" she said, leering at his chest.   
  
Spike gaped at her for a minute, wondering how in the hell she had gotten enough brain cells together to figure that out. He shook his head, and then clutched it, regretting the motion. "Talk to me after I cut my head off."  
  
"Okay, Spikey!" she said much too brightly. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and headed into the small bathroom attached to his room.   
  
Spike slowly laid back down on his bed, closing his eyes and cursing himself for being weak and using Harmony. One of his regrets that wasn't connected with Buffy was the way he had treated Harmony when he knew that she'd loved him. In one of his darker moods, he had wondered if his relationship with Buffy had been a karmic payback for his treatment of Harmony. He had concluded that God wouldn't be that cruel to him, because it wasn't possible that he had hurt Harmony as badly as Buffy had hurt him.   
  
Yet maybe her idea wasn't all bad. She certainly seemed to know the score, and so he wouldn't have to worry about a nagging girlfriend. Besides, what was life without a girl to take out, to have fun with? Harmony would fit the bill, and it would be the first step to his new life.   
  
Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. The numbers read 8:45 a.m., so he decided to get up and go to his office. The last thing he wanted was to be like Angel, all brooding and Mr. Solitude.   
  
No, it was time to remember who he really was. He was Spike, the Big Bad himself, who was the only vampire to ever seek out a soul just because he wanted it. He wasn't cursed, he wasn't prophesized about. He could make his own choices, so maybe it was time he did that.   
  
***  
  
"Good morning, everyone," Spike said as he walked into Angel's office, where the rest of the team had assembled for a mid-morning staff meeting. "What evil is afoot in this fair city?" He took a seat at the conference table, and leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the table.   
  
"Spike, feet. Down," Angel said, not taking his attention from the pile of folders in front of him. "And I would have thought you'd still be sleeping off your hangover at this point."  
  
"Or getting rid of Harmony," Gunn said with a snicker.  
  
"Well, us hero types can't let our infirmities-or our pleasures-distract us from fighting the good fight," Spike said jovially.  
  
Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were doing and stared at him. He just smiled at them, enjoying their confusion and attention. Finally, Fred said, "Spike, are you feeling all right?"  
  
"Right as rain, Dixie," he said, finally taking his feet down from the table and leaning forward in his chair. "So, Angel, what's on today's schedule?"  
  
Angel looked at him blankly, but then just shook his head and started speaking, bringing everyone up to speed about their latest clients. Spike listened, and occasionally offered his thoughts, but tried to stay in the background. Still, when the meeting broke up, Angel said, "Spike, I want a word."  
  
"Sure, boss," he said cheekily as he dropped back into his chair.   
  
Angel spoke to Gunn for a moment, and then came back to the conference table, sitting in a chair next to Spike. "So, you want to drop the act?"  
  
"What act?" Spike said, hating this conversation already.  
  
"You say last night that you're not going to run after Buffy, you then drink like a fish and leave with Harmony. Today, you waltz in here, acting like you're on top of the world. You haven't acted this annoying since you first arrived here."  
  
"Well, maybe I've been playing an act for months, acting all lovesick and downtrodden, when really, I *am* this annoying," Spike said, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"No one is this annoying, Spike, even you."  
  
Spike got up and started pacing. "It's just . . . " His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how to explain to Angel.  
  
"You don't want to be like me."  
  
Spike watched as Angel rose and walked over towards the windows, his back to Spike. "You want to try and get over Buffy, but you sure as hell don't want to do it like I did-brooding, staying quiet. You're going to be loud and cocky and arrogant and as different from me as you can be. But the end result is the same, Spike."  
  
"And what's that?" Spike asked, mustering up his bravado.  
  
Angel turned and looked over his shoulder at Spike. "You don't get over Buffy."  
  
"For God's sake, mate!" Spike said, letting his anger out in his voice. "You loved Darla for over a century! You were willing to kill, with your soul, to stay with her. But you're saying some chit, that you barely knew, is the love of your life?"  
  
Angel turned away, and went back to staring out the window. "Perhaps I loved Buffy because I saw Darla in her-what Darla could have been. Maybe I craved Darla so much because I wondered about what kind of innate goodness there was in her, and I wanted to know what I'd do if I found it. Doesn't matter. Darla is dead, because of Co-because of me, and Buffy and I can never be together. Psychologically, I think it's a bit healthier to consider Buffy the love of my life."  
  
"Yeah, because you know you still have a chance with Buffy," Spike said with a snort.   
  
"Perhaps," Angel acknowledged. "I don't care what you do, Spike. As long as you show up for meetings and hold up your part of the deal, you can act however you want. Just remember what I said."  
  
"Sure," Spike said, feigning boredom as he stalked towards the door.  
  
"Oh, and Spike? I suppose if I told you I didn't want you stealing my secretary for nooners, you'd still go ahead and do it?"  
  
Spike grinned at Angel. "You know me too well."   
  
As he left the room, he thought he heard Angel mutter, "Yeah, I do."  
  
***  
  
The first few weeks went well. Spike had settled down a bit after the first few days, when he realized he was starting to piss himself off. But that didn't mean he let all the attitude disappear-he just toned it down some, and even Angel seemed to accept his random sarcastic statements.   
  
He didn't accept so easily Spike's requests to be paid. Angel protested that since Spike lived at the office, and got his blood through Wolfram & Hart, what need did he have to be paid? Spike refused to tell Angel, but held firm that if he was an employee, he should be paid; what he did with the money was his business.   
  
Spike didn't make any statements about leaving the firm; he knew that he'd stay regardless of Angel's decision. But that didn't mean he couldn't make Angel's life miserable, until he agreed with Spike. Much to his delight, Angel started groaning whenever Spike appeared in his office, and his grandsire was always eager to send him out on W&H business that got him out of the office. The breaking point came during a meeting with the D'Tissa clan, when Spike walked into Angel's office and started picketing for equal pay for equal work. Spike knew exactly what he was doing; the D'Tissas were sticklers for fair labor practices, and they wouldn't be too happy to learn that their lawyers weren't equally particular. Angel had no choice but to agree to Spike's demand for a salary.  
  
With his first paycheck, Spike blew it all on smokes, booze, and a weekend at the vampire's equivalent of the Santa Anita racetrack. At least, that's what he wanted Angel to think. He had secretly stashed some of his pay in a bank account, putting aside the money for the plan he was developing.   
  
His next paycheck, Spike put half of it in the bank, and then took Fred out to dinner. He hadn't spent as much time with her lately as he had when he had first appeared in L.A., and he found he had missed her. So he took his favorite scientist to a nice restaurant, where they had a great time catching up.   
  
Fred had been happily regaling him with stories about Knox, when she suddenly stopped in mid-stream and switched gears. "Spike?"  
  
"Yeah, pet?" he asked, pouring the last of the red wine into his glass.   
  
"Well, it's just that I was wondering, and of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, but I think you need to talk about it. Although maybe you're entering a strong silent period, which would be really odd because 'silent' would never describe you, I think . . . " Her voice trailed off, and Spike couldn't help smiling at the embarrassment on her face.   
  
"So, you want to talk to me about something?" he said, trying to stifle his laughter.   
  
She nodded. "Yes. It's about . . . well, it's about Buffy."  
  
At her name, Spike sat back in his chair, and sighed. "Fred, if you're asking if I took you out tonight so I could spill my guts about Buffy, out of the hearing of Angel, that's not the case."   
  
"No, I'm not asking that, although now that you mention it, that's a good reason to talk about this now. No, it's just that . . . you're asking Angel for money, you're having afternoon delight with Harmony, and you're all snarky again. Have, have you heard something from Buffy?"  
  
"If you think Buffy had contacted me, Harmony would be the last woman in the world I'd be sleeping with, Fred."   
  
She bit her lip, but pressed forward. "Just because Buffy contacted you didn't mean it would necessarily be good news."  
  
"It'd be more likely that it'd be something I wouldn't want to hear, that's certainly true," Spike agreed. "But why do all these things combine to me being in touch with Buffy?"  
  
Fred shrugged her shoulders. "You get sarcastic when you're covering your feelings. You did it when you first arrived, and now you're doing it again. You're sleeping with Harmony to forget about someone. And you're asking Angel for a salary, which I highly doubt you're blowing all on cigarettes. So, it makes me think you're planning something. Something like leaving," she said quietly.  
  
"I may be able to leave L.A., but it's not like I'm gonna run off after Buffy." Spike paused, and looked at Fred. "Look, I get that you're concerned. And Dixie, I appreciate the concern. But there's nothing to worry about. I haven't heard anything from Buffy." He dropped his gaze to his plate, and pushed around the last of his filet mignon.  
  
"So that's the problem? You haven't heard anything?" Fred said, her voice curious. "I mean, does she even know if you're alive? I mean, not dead? Oh, you know what I mean."  
  
Spike grinned weakly. "Far as I know, she has no idea. And I think it's better if it stays that way."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand," Fred said, shaking her head. "Don't you want to let her know that you're back? At the very least, it'd be the polite thing."  
  
Spike snorted. "Vampire, luv. 'Polite' isn't really in the definition of the word."  
  
"Isn't there anyone that you'd want to get in contact with, though? Anyone that you didn't resolve everything? Words left unsaid?"   
  
Spike looked away from Fred, trying not to start making a laundry list of regrets and wishes. If he started, he'd never finish.   
  
"Spike, I'm sorry," Fred said. "I . . . I just wanted to give you a different perspective. When I got sucked into that portal to Pylea, I spent a lot of time at first just trying to survive. I didn't have time to think about home. But when I did, I spent a lot of time being miserable, thinking over all the things I should have done, could have done. It was the worst." She paused, but continued. "But, I needed to do that. I needed to remember my old life, to remember why I wanted to go home. I was lucky-I got to come home, and I could face my regrets. And I think you need to do that."  
  
"Well, Fred, I'm not eager to think about all the times I fucked up, and all the people I have to apologize to. I'm not like you, since the worst thing you ever did was stay out past your curfew. I attacked Buffy. I stole and lied and cheated and killed, Fred. How can I make up for that? How?"  
  
The waiter materializing at their table made him realize his voice had been raised loud enough for others in the restaurant to hear him. Spike sighed, and threw some cash on the table. "Come on, Fred," he said, holding out his hand to her. She gave him a long look, but then took his hand and allowed him to escort her out of the restaurant. They didn't say anything on the drive back to the office, and although Spike tried to apologize to her, Fred didn't let him. She merely put her fingers over his lips, and smiled at him, before heading off to the lab.  
  
***  
  
Spike tiredly walked into his office/living area. It had been a few weeks since his dinner with Fred, and since then, he had been feeling very unlike himself. He had broken things off with Harmony once and for all, much to his sanity's pleasure although not his libido's. But he had just gotten tired of dealing with her, even in a no-strings kind of way. Annoying bint, she was.   
  
But it was other things, too. He kept returning to the conversation he had with Fred, much to his displeasure. The last thing he wanted to think about was all the things he'd fix if he could, but he couldn't seem to prevent his mind from returning to that topic. There were several times that he cursed Fred for putting the idea in his head. He had been doing all right, hadn't he? He'd been getting the job done, and even getting some enjoyment out of life. But now, he moped around, not even caring about his similarity to Angel. He hardly spent any of his paycheck, just putting it in the bank out of habit. Thanks to that habit, he was building up a tidy nest egg, one that he could use to travel or invest or have a grand time in Vegas. Yet he couldn't work up the will to do any of those things.  
  
He tossed the duster over a chair, and sank down on the matching sofa. He had been dealing with a gang of Chrisjourno demons earlier today and they had taken a lot out of him. All he wanted to do at this point was drink some blood, catch the footie game on the satellite, and get some sleep. Maybe if he was able to sleep a bit, he'd stop thinking more about Buffy than he had in the last year.  
  
He had just pulled himself over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bag of blood, when a knock sounded on his door. He sighed, but called out, "Come in."  
  
The door opened, and Wesley poked his head inside. "Hello, Spike. I was wondering if you were planning on watching . . .?"   
  
Spike sighed again and squeezed the blood into a mug. "Becks is playing, isn't he? Of course I'm watching. Pull up a bit of sofa." He heated up his blood, and when it was finished, took a seat in the armchair.   
  
They were quiet during the first quarter, with occasional shouts at players or the referees. However, Spike kept sensing Wes glancing over at him, and he finally snarled, "Spit it out, Wes."  
  
Wes shifted on the sofa. "Fred talked to me a few days ago, saying that the two of you had gone out to dinner, and she was worried that she had upset you. She asked me to speak with you."  
  
Spike groaned. "Meddling woman." He sat forward in his chair. "Fred went poking her nose in things she shouldn't have, and as a result, I'm right brassed off. Not at what she did," he assured Wes. "No, I'm mad about how I feel about what she said."  
  
"I assume this is about Buffy."  
  
Spike jumped up from the chair with a shout of frustration, and began pacing around the room. "You see, that's what I mean. You know, my sun doesn't rise and set on Buffy! There were other people I cared about, that I'd like to talk to. But no, Buffy is the only person I think about according to all of you around here. But I can't talk to Dawn, or Red, or even Giles, because Miss High and Mighty Slayer can't be bothered to pick up the sodding phone and tell us where they are!" Spike paused, and let out a strained chuckle. "I even want to talk to Xander. I must be going crazy. Again."  
  
Wes cocked an eyebrow. "I admit, the desire to talk to Xander Harris could easily be construed as insanity. But I'm curious--just what did Fred say, that has made you so irritable lately?"  
  
Spike glared at Wes. "Irritable? You make me sound like a child."  
  
"In fact, you've acted more like an infant. Sulking, fighting, screaming at the top of your lungs."  
  
Spike stopped pacing and slumped back into his chair. Wes didn't say anything, waiting for Spike to speak. Finally, he found the words.  
  
"I want to get over Buffy. Well, not want, exactly. More like I feel like I have to try, or else this second chance I got will have been wasted." He stared at his fingernails. "Remember how I told you about my mum? About what I did to her?" Wes nodded, and Spike continued. "I had blocked it all out, but the First picked over my memories and used a song my mum sang to me as a trigger. To get rid of the trigger, I had to face the memories. Face the fact that I turned my mother, and then I had to kill her, because she wasn't my mother anymore."  
  
Wesley nodded sympathetically. "Quite a few fledglings through time have done the same, with similar results."  
  
Spike pressed on, as if he hadn't heard Wesley. "Well, remembering all that, it made me feel like my own man again, you know? Breaking the trigger, yeah, was good. But even better was remembering that my mum had loved me. No matter what happened to me, I knew she had loved me, and I had turned her out of love. Knowing that--it gave me back my confidence, I guess. Dunno, really. I just felt different after that. Like I was becoming my own man. I told Buffy that, and I think she could see that," he said softly.  
  
"So, now, in a sense, you're trying to figure out a way to de-trigger yourself of Buffy?"   
  
"Lacking a better way to describe it, yes." Spike turned and looked at Wes. "Know you've been there, mate. Just wondering how you did it."  
  
"Yes . . . Fred," Wes said, his voice tinged with a touch of emotion. "When she chose someone else, I had to decide which was more important: staying in her life, if only as a co-worker, or declaring my intentions and interfering in her new relationship, and potentially losing several friends as well as her. So I contented myself with her friendship. And sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, in stepping back. But then I think about what she wanted, and my choice was already made for me."  
  
A heavy silence fell over the room, and the sound of the television did little to lighten the dark mood both men felt.   
  
Spike cleared his throat, trying not to reveal how close to tears he was in. Because he was crying on the inside, great heaving sobs. And while he knew he was going to sound like a choice git, the words still fell from his lips. "So, the fact that Buffy hasn't called Angel at all . . . guess that means she's happy where she is, and I shouldn't go mucking that up, huh?"  
  
Wes didn't say anything in reply, only reached over and laid his hand on Spike's shoulder. Spike couldn't help the small sniff, and then he said, "Well, that's that. Least now, I know."  
  
Wes removed his hand, and Spike leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "I had told myself over and over that I was moving on, but I don't think I believed it. Until now."  
  
"Well, that's why they're called epiphanies. They strike out of the blue."  
  
Spike groaned, and forced his attention to the television. Forced himself to concentrate on the movement of men and a black-and-white ball, instead of thinking of how he was letting go of his dream. For weeks, he thought he had put Buffy behind him, that he was dealing with his decision to let her go. He realized now that he had been running away from any thought of Buffy. And now, that he had faced up to his choices, he had gone with the only one that made sense.  
  
The one where Buffy was happy.   
  
***  
  
Spike spent a lot of time alone after that evening with Wesley. Unlike before, when he was brooding-no way he could deny it, he'd seen Angel brood too many times not to know he had been doing the same-this time, he was thinking. About his life as a human, about the years he had spent as an 'evil thing', and about the months when he had been an anomaly: the only vampire in history to win back his soul. The events of the last six years weighed heavily on him: the time spent in Sunnydale, moping after Drusilla, hatching evil plans despite his chip, falling in love with Buffy, touching her body but never her heart, only to go too far. Then the time when his soul had put him through insanity and then slow recovery, only to have his body be nearly broken by the First. He had thought he was finally pulling things together at the end . . . he had broken the First's trigger, Buffy was reaching out to him, he was finally realizing what his place in the world was, and he had an inkling that it wasn't necessarily at Buffy's side.  
  
But then, that last battle had come, and he had realized that his destiny laid along a different path than Buffy. She would keep walking her path, but his was finally coming to an end. He knew it the moment their fingers entertwined, right before he told her to go and sent her out of the basement. Before his body went up in a blaze of light. He had resigned himself, as soon as he took that horribly gaudy piece of jewelry from her, that he wasn't going to make it. And it was so damn hard to face, but he consoled himself with the thought that he was doing this for Buffy. She'd live, and go on, and have all the things he would have loved to have given her.   
  
When he was returned to life, his first thought had been Buffy. He thought about how he would find her, and they'd finally have the time to figure out what there was between them, without the threat of evil and apocalypse hanging over their heads. He didn't completely expect a happy ending, but all he could think about was the chance, the possibility of the two of them being happy together.   
  
Yet he was stuck in L.A., unable to touch or feel anything. He thought that once he became corporeal, he'd be able to find Buffy. But then he was solid, and he found that for some reason, he kept finding some reason to not leave. First it was the problems at the office, then he needed to help Lorne with a crisis in Pylea, then it was several cases that Angel asked for his help with. And before he knew it, a year had gone by and he was still in Los Angeles.   
  
Maybe it wasn't a case of 'before he knew it'. Maybe his subconscious knew what it was doing all along. It was getting him ready for a time when he'd face facts and realize that Buffy and he would never be together. Of course, the situation had been helped by her inability to remain in contact with Angel. He would have told her that Spike had been returned, and who knows what would have happened then? But she hadn't called, hadn't written.   
  
Love couldn't survive in a vacuum. His love for Buffy, despite his efforts to sustain it, had slowly been suffocated. He loved her, he knew. Would always love her. But the ache to possess her, to be with her, had faded away. He believed that she was in the world, happily living her life. That was all he had wanted for her. Once, he had wanted to help make that happen, but now, he was content knowing that she must be happy, because she was free from the Hellmouth and all the burdens of slaying.   
  
So, if Buffy was happy, free from slaying, he was free, too. Free from his guilt over not finding Buffy, free from his shame that maybe he didn't measure up, after all. Free of his doubt over what kind of man he was.   
  
He knew what he was now. He was a good man.  
  
***  
  
In the following days, Spike found a new confidence within himself. He finally started working with Wesley, helping with translations when asked. He had scorned Wesley's efforts to include him in the past, but now he found he enjoyed the book work.  
  
But he still relished the patrols with Angel or Gunn, using his speed and skill to take out demons who thought they could take over the world. He got the same thrill out of using his fists as he did decoding an ancient manuscript.   
  
He started having lunch with Fred weekly. At their first lunch, he thanked her for the care she had shown for him, and told her he appreciated it, even if it had been a hard lesson to learn. She had smiled at him, and told him she had confidence that he'd always be able to learn anything he needed to know, no matter how hard. The words were lovely to hear, but they weren't anything he didn't already know about himself.   
  
His bank account was still growing, although he took some money out and bought himself some clothes. When Fred, who went with him to serve as his stylist, asked him why he was changing his look, he just said that he usually changed his look every twenty years or so. Fred had gotten a look on her face, but hadn't said anything as he picked out some pairs of black slacks and a variety of colored shirts, both pullover and button-down. She approved of the blue and red shirts, and made him put back a forest green shirt that would make him look "tubercular."   
  
She also helped him pick out a new jacket to replace the duster. He decided that while he'd always keep that symbolic coat, he couldn't wear it anymore. But even Fred couldn't convince him to stop dying his hair. Still, he felt confident that his 'new look' wasn't that big of a shake-up.   
  
He was wearing black slacks and a blue pullover on a sunny Tuesday morning when he entered Angel's office. He glanced up as he walked in, catching sight of Angel before redirecting his eyes to the open file folder in his hands. "Angel, we've got a problem. According to this translation, the Rite of Peesu-Brat is supposed to be held in two days, and it's not exactly a pleasant moonlight picnic for the forty humans who have to be sacrificed as part of the rite. We need to make some plans . . . "  
  
Spike trailed off when he realized there was something going on. Someone else was in the room. He could feel his senses tingling in a way he didn't want to remember. He took a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the papers in front of him for a moment. Before he could look up, she spoke.   
  
He heard a soft chuckle. "Hello, Spike. You're not surprised to see me, I think."  
  
He swallowed, and looked up. There she was. She stood in a patch of sunlight, but to him, she outshone even the sun. He was finally able to find his voice. "Right as always . . . Buffy."  
  
End, Chapter 2 


	3. Chapter Three

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.   
  
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.  
  
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!  
  
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for himself.  
  
Author's Note: Thanks to Gwynegga and Spikewriter(Caro) for helping with L.A. geography.  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Buffy looked good. She had gained a bit of weight, and the circles that he'd grown used to seeing under her eyes had faded quite a bit. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, reaching nearly to her waist in a shimmering curtain of gold. She was dressed simply, a bit more conservatively than he recalled, but she was still the same woman.   
  
Spike clutched the file folder in his hands. She was right; he wasn't surprised to see her. It was almost like fate was laughing at him. Just when he'd finally gotten his life under his control, and out of her hands, here she was, ready to take him over again.  
  
He couldn't be here right now. He'd never been one to turn and run, but there was no way in hell he was going to stay in this office and watch Buffy and Angel do their pained love and longing looks.   
  
"Um, I'll just catch you later about this, Angel--I've got a line on a disgruntled Rashaka who has some info about the ritual." Spike quickly turned to leave, but stopped at Buffy's voice.  
  
"Wait, Spike!" When he turned around, she was only a step away from him. He was rather confused about why she had moved so quickly. She looked a bit upset, and his first reaction was to reach out, touch her shoulder, say how he'd do anything to help her.  
  
Instead, he stayed silent and watched her as she bit her lip before speaking. "What I mean is, um, you have business with Angel. I'm just here to visit; I could go talk with Wesley while you take care of this ritual of PCU-Bot."   
  
Angel, who Spike had forgotten about completely, interjected himself into the discussion. "Actually, Buffy, if you're not against the idea of a working visit, we'd love your help."  
  
She looked from Angel to Spike, seemingly tempted to stay. "You don't mind?" she asked Spike.  
  
He shook his head, and mumbled, "No, fine with me," before he took a seat in front of Angel's desk. Buffy took the chair at his side, and Angel perched on the edge of his desk.   
  
Spike tried to ignore Buffy as he began speaking. "Rite of Peesu-Brat is a major ceremony held every four hundred years by several inter-related clans of demons. To make a long story short," he said, not wanting to sound too much like Wes did during these explanations, "the rite requires the sacrifice of forty humans, preferably young females. The rite is apparently being held in Echo Park, so I'd say we should spend the next two nights scoping out teen hangouts in the area, make it a little difficult for the clans to make their quota. Then, we hit them in the park the night of the ritual."  
  
Angel nodded. "Sounds good. You want to organize everything? I've got four other cases I'm working on over the next two nights, although I'll be available on Thursday night for the ritual."  
  
Spike nodded. "Fine."  
  
"So, Buffy, you'll be working with Spike on this," Angel said, with some indescribable emotion flickering over his face. It could have been resignation, it could have been annoyance, it could have been regret. Spike, however, saw mockery. Almost like Angel was saying, 'See how hard it is not to sigh and mope over her when you've got to work with her.'  
  
Spike gritted his teeth, feeling a flare of anger. He turned to Buffy, forcing himself to stay calm. "Hope you don't mind, Slayer."  
  
She looked happy, for some odd reason, at this arrangement. "That's fine, Angel," she said, before turning to Spike. "So, we'll meet up at sunset?"  
  
Spike nodded, staring at the folder in his lap but sneaking a glance or two at Buffy. "Um, yeah. Just come to my office--anyone can point it out to you."   
  
"Good," she said.   
  
Silence fell between them, before Angel cleared his throat. "Spike, if you wouldn't mind . . . "  
  
Spike looked at Angel, then at Buffy, before jumping out of his chair. "No, no, not at all. I'll see you later, Buffy."  
  
He nearly ran out of Angel's office, and immediately headed to his own. Closing the door firmly behind him, he went to the sofa and dropped down on it, still feeling a touch of shock and numbness about what had just happened.  
  
Buffy was here. Over a year had passed since Sunnydale had disappeared, and she had made no attempts to see Angel, didn't even phone him or write. And now, like a bolt out of the blue, she was sitting in Angel's office, making small talk and jumping to get involved in one of their cases.   
  
He didn't understand at all. But then, he never really had understood Buffy, so he figured it was just more of the same.  
  
He sighed and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He was going to have to work with her tonight so he needed to take time to compose himself. Make sure he reinforced his walls so she couldn't affect him. He stared at his hands for a moment, trying to push aside all the nagging thoughts and questions he had and concentrated on work to help him fill the hours until he'd have to see her.  
  
Spike pulled a stack of papers off the coffee table and started going over a translation of the Debxenaronian Codex that one of Wesley's minions was having difficulty with. He had completed three lines of the translation when one of those small nagging thoughts broke loose and made him stop in amazement.  
  
Buffy hadn't been surprised to see him. At all.   
  
But shouldn't she be thinking that he was dead?  
  
So how had she found out he wasn't dead?  
  
And when did she find out?  
  
Working on instinct, Spike jumped up and stalked out of his office. He walked into Angel's office and ignored Angel's frustrated expression as he faced Buffy.   
  
"You knew I was alive," he said, his voice sounding deeper than normal to him.  
  
Buffy's eyes widened, before she stood to face him. "Yes, I knew."  
  
"How did you know?" he asked in confusion. "You haven't been in contact with any of us here in L.A. None of the Scoobies have been--who told you about me?"  
  
"No one," she said, her face blank.   
  
"You mean no one here told you, but you heard through the demon grapevine?" Spike pressed, looking for answers.   
  
"I mean, no one," Buffy said, a trace of annoyance flashing over her face. "I-I just knew you weren't gone. Willow did a spell and confirmed that you were alive, or at least not dust, and that you were in L.A. I heard a few days ago that you were working with Angel."  
  
Spike stared at her, knowing that his emotions were written all over his face. "You 'just knew' I was alive? What the bloody hell does that mean?"  
  
"It means I just knew!" she snapped. She turned to Angel, and said, "Can you show me where Wes is? I'd like to talk to him now."  
  
Angel nodded, and before Spike could say anything else, he whisked Buffy out of the office, but not without shooting a dirty look at Spike.   
  
Spike slumped into the cushions of the leather sofa. When Angel re-entered the office, Spike looked up at him. "I don't understand. Did she say anything to you?"  
  
Angel shrugged. "You know Buffy. She just talked about the gang, about Dawn."  
  
"Did she say why she was here after all this time?"  
  
"Said she needed to talk to Wesley about something. Probably the new Watcher's Council that Giles is forming."  
  
Spike snorted. "So that robo-dad of Wes' wasn't that far off, huh?" He sighed. "Guess I should go take care of things before tonight. Would hate to get staked with work on my desk."  
  
"What makes you think you'd get staked tonight?"   
  
Spike just looked at Angel. Angel nodded, and said, "Of course. I'd tell you to try not to annoy Buffy, but it'd be easier to keep a fledgling from feeding. See you later."  
  
Spike nodded, and headed back to his office. This time he was more successful in thinking about his work, but he kept looking at the clock throughout the day, and he finally gave up around four-thirty and went to the training room to stretch out and loosen his muscles. After a long work-out, he showered and went to find Fred.  
  
When he ambled into the lab, Fred was bent over a microscope, engrossed in her work. He softly ran a finger over the back of her neck, and she jumped. "Spike!"  
  
"Nice to know I really can scare you," he said with a small smile. His smile faded as he looked at his boots and scuffed his foot across the floor. "You've heard about our visitor?" He looked back up, catching Fred's sympathetic gaze.  
  
She nodded. "I had lunch with her, actually. I liked her a lot. It was nice to finally meet her, especially after hearing so much about her."  
  
"Did she . . .?"  
  
Fred's gaze dropped from his, but she told him the truth. "She didn't mention you. But she didn't talk about Angel, either."  
  
Spike smiled a bit at Fred. "You're a love, Dixie." He paced around the room a bit, picking up random items that caught his eye. "Knocked me for a loop, seeing her," he said. He paused, a beaker in his hand. "But it was surprising, how I felt. Like she was someone I had a history with, but just that--a history."  
  
"You didn't feel anything for her?" Fred asked, her voice questioning.  
  
"I'm not sure. Just know that I don't want to fall into that trap again. That's the last thing I want."  
  
Fred patted his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Spike. She said she's leaving on Friday."  
  
Spike nodded. "Yeah. Just have to get through these next couple of days."  
  
Fred nodded as well. "You can do it, Spike."  
  
With a smile, Spike left the lab and headed back to his office. He went into his bedroom and changed his clothes, pulling on his patrolling jeans and a black t-shirt. Although he had retired the duster for good, you couldn't beat jeans and a t-shirt for patrol. Sturdy but cheap to replace; they had worked for him for thirty years.   
  
A knock on the door pulled him away from such thoughts, and he sighed a bit. "Remember, you've killed two slayers, fought for your soul, and sing better than Angel." With that, he went into the living room/office and opened the door.  
  
Buffy smiled brightly at him. "Hi, Spike."  
  
"Hey, Buffy," he said, resting one hand against the door frame.   
  
She tried to look around him, and then said, "Can I come in?"  
  
"I guess so," he said, moving to the side. As she walked in, he looked around, imagining how she saw the place. It still was pretty corporate comfortable, with bland walls and that indefinable brownish-tan carpet. He had finally started adding some touches to the place, like plenty of candles and some throws, but he still felt a bit tentative here. Like he wasn't sure he'd be staying, so he didn't want to put down too many roots. Which was a pretty stupid idea, as the people he'd met here pretty much ensured he wouldn't be leaving any time soon.  
  
She looked around, and then nodded at him. "It's nice, Spike. It looks lived-in."  
  
He shrugged. "Well, I'm here a lot. Was good to finally get a place of my own after knocking around here for six months."  
  
She looked a bit puzzled, but before she could ask anything, he walked over to his weapons chest and picked up a few stakes and a small axe and handed them to her. He grabbed the light coat he wore instead of the duster now, and said, "Ready to go?"  
  
She nodded, and he lead the way out of the office and down to the parking garage. Surveying the row of cars, he said, "Any preference, Slayer?"  
  
"It's all wrong to drive to go slaying," she grumbled.  
  
"It's L.A. No one walks here, you know that."  
  
She sighed, then pointed towards a red car halfway down the row. "That one."  
  
"The Viper," he said with a grin. "My favorite, in fact. Good choice."   
  
He headed over, barely noticing the small smile on her face.   
  
The drive over to the Echo Park area was quiet, with a bit of small talk. Once there, Spike gestured to the area. "There's a few runaway shelters in the area, as well as a community center about a half-mile away. I thought we'd just walk around some, making sure anyone about got to where they were going. There's a club a few streets over, too, that we can check a little later. Still too early for it really to be jumping," he said.  
  
"You've obviously done your homework," she commented.   
  
"Just a matter of knowing your location," Spike said. "Difference between living another day and becoming dust."   
  
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The mention of death and dust made the memories of their last moments in Sunnydale feel all too close. He guessed she was thinking about the same thing, and of the girls who had died during that last battle.   
  
"How's Dawn?" he asked suddenly, looking for something to distract him from his memories.  
  
Buffy started, as if she had been lost in thought. "Um, she's good! She's in school, in England. She's helping Giles with research, too. I think I got all the 'getting-in-trouble-in-school' genes, and she got all the 'good-student' genes. But she's happy. She's getting ready for college; Giles keeps pushing her towards Cambridge, but she's thinking about coming back to the States for school." She paused. "Giles is happy to be in England, even if we're all living together. Of course, Giles's place is a lot bigger than my house was. Plus, not full of teenage girls."  
  
Spike nodded, content to let her talk, to tell him about how she was. "How's Red doing? Bet she's happy to be near that coven again."  
  
Buffy nodded. "Willow's been studying with them and learning more. She's been so much better since that last battle when she finally used her powers wisely. And while I know he's the first person you thought of," she said with a grin, "Xander's good, too. He's actually in Cleveland with Andrew, Faith and Principal Wood."  
  
"Taking care of the Hellmouth there?" Spike asked.  
  
"Yep. They've got a couple of slayers there; Xander says it's like Hellmouth Central Station." She paused, her face growing dark. "Did you know about Anya?"  
  
He sighed, guessing what her words would be. "Demon Girl didn't make it?"  
  
Buffy sighed sadly. "She died saving Andrew. He couldn't believe he made it through the battle. He's changed so much since then. He's really grown up. Xander says he's been a huge help to everyone in Cleveland. I never would have expected it."  
  
Spike scuffed his foot along the sidewalk. "Well, you never know when someone's gonna come through. Suppose that's why you need a dark horse to save the day when everything looks hopeless."  
  
"Yeah, you would know something about that," Buffy said lightly.   
  
He glanced over at her, wondering at her words.   
  
Another silence fell, broken only by the sounds of their feet meeting the sidewalk and people talking on corners. He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering how long they could continue to dance around the things that needed to be talked about.   
  
Buffy laughed a bit. "I never thought that the first time we saw each other again we'd make a patrolling date."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Patrolling is what we do best. What were you expecting?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe hand-holding?"  
  
Spike stopped walking and stared at her. "Hand-holding?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
She stopped as well, and looked at her boots--stylish but affordable, he bet. "Well, that's what happened when I came back from the dead. And since you've come back from the dead now . . . I thought it could be our thing."  
  
"Our . . . thing?" he said, feeling even more confused.   
  
She nodded and shot him a glance. "That moment--when I came back--nothing had felt real. But after that, I started . . . feeling real. At least a little."  
  
He was lost for anything to say. He was trying to think and speak at the same time, but he couldn't get them to work together. He knew he was sputtering out syllables, while his brain was trying to conceive of why Buffy would place such significance on a simple moment.  
  
"Um, well, that's certainly . . . " he managed to get out, before a girl's scream distracted him.   
  
Buffy sighed, but took off in the direction of the sound. He followed her, his thoughts now focused on helping. The screams came from down the street, and Buffy came to a stop at the end of an alley. Two young girls were cornered at the end, with four Unrui demons moving towards them. They halted in their tracks, though, when they heard Buffy.  
  
"Somehow, I don't think you guys are part of the Neighborhood Watch." She strolled down the alley, Spike shadowing her moves. "Luckily for these girls, *we* are," she said, gesturing to Spike and herself.   
  
One of the demons grunted, and Spike said, "No need to get personal, mate," with a grin.   
  
The demon said something else, and Spike shrugged. "Well, you asked for it," he said before diving into the middle of the group of demons. Buffy quickly followed, yelling to the two girls to get to someplace safe.   
  
Spike felt the stress of the last few hours drop away as he moved against the demons. With each punch he landed, he let go of some of the tension. With each kick, he released uncertainty. He knew his place. He was meant to fight, to be in control, to make his own destiny. His role was clear. Clearer than it ever had been.  
  
Yet things were good, with Buffy there, moving, dodging, dancing with death. Fighting with her was the best he'd ever get. No one, not even Angel, brought out the best of him like she did. If this was all they'd have together--this last chance to patrol, to fight--he'd take it. Because this was something that was theirs, and theirs alone. The fight.  
  
The scuffle was over sooner than he would have liked, just like so many things in his life. He knew she'd only be here a few days and he wanted time with her. Not just time to patrol, but time to talk to her, to hear more about Dawn, and to find out exactly what she had been doing; he noticed that she had left out how she was, what she had done, since they last saw each other. He wanted to part with her as friends and allies so that she knew she could always call him to talk, without worrying about if he'd pressure her for more.   
  
But now, the fight was over, and they were standing by four demon corpses. Buffy was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her face, and he marveled once again at how much she loved the dance. He didn't understand how she could want a 'normal' life, when she could have this, when she was so suited for these small triumphs over evil.  
  
She was staring at him. Staring like she couldn't believe he was here, like he would disappear if she didn't keep all her attention focused on him. He assumed it was just some weird reaction to their reunion coupled with the fight working her up.  
  
"Hey, Slayer," he said, moving towards her, feeling a little unsteady as he side-stepped to avoid one of the corpses. He touched her shoulder, giving her a slight shake.   
  
Buffy threw her arms around him, hugging him like she never wanted to let go. She squeezed him tightly, burying her head in his chest. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her, and he found one of his hands starting to rub her back. She seemed to be murmuring under her breath. As he bent down to try and catch her words, her head came up, and her gaze locked on his face.  
  
And she kissed him. Kissed him like she had never kissed him before, as if her only desire was to stand in this dirty little alley and kiss him some more. And he did kiss her back. Because it felt good, and it was Buffy, and no matter what, he loved her. But after a few moments, he drew back from her, and asked, "Buffy?"  
  
"God, I love the way you say my name. No one says it like you do," she said, gasping a bit. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed glassy.   
  
He tilted his head, a bit surprised, and stepped away from her. Something seemed wrong. Maybe these demons--their blood or guts or something--had an effect on humans that he didn't know about. "Slayer, are you all right?"  
  
She nodded, her eyes on him, and said with a smile, "Oh, I'm very all right." She placed her hands on his arms, pulling herself into his body. "I've missed you," she said, her eyes soft, her voice low. "Every day. I missed you as soon as I left you."  
  
Now he was really worried. "Who are you, and where's Buffy?" he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, and not like he was wondering if she was a robot. Even if he really was thinking that. Because the alternative--that she was charged up from the fight and was looking for a way to release that energy--spelled doom for him.  
  
She grinned a little at him. "I'm right here. I don't know why it took me so long to do that. I meant to do that the second I saw you. Even if Angel and the entire firm of Wolfram and Hart were there to watch, I was gonna kiss you."  
  
He couldn't conceal his disbelief and surprise. This was just too much. He thought he had gotten used to her mixed signals when they had been involved, but this? After a year apart, coming after a time where the most they had done was hold each while sleeping, this was too much physical sensation. His body was on overload, ready to shut down and give in. But his mind seemed to be flailing around, looking for reason. Something didn't seem to add up here.   
  
He took a step away from her, and then stumbled backwards as his foot caught on one of the bodies. He managed to stay standing, but held out his hand as Buffy moved towards him to help. "No, no, you just stay there for a minute."  
  
"Spike?" she asked, her voice confused.   
  
"I know I've been out of the game for a while," he said, "but you're acting very different from the last time we saw each other. And considering you hadn't bothered to pick up a phone, just to say 'I'm glad you're alive', it makes me wonder what you want from me."  
  
Buffy bit her lip. "I-I would have thought I made it clear in the Hellmouth. And before that, too."  
  
"What, do you mean the part where you asked me to hold you while you slept, and then kissed Angel? Or the part where you gave me Satan's favorite piece of jewelry, without even knowing what it would do to me?"   
  
"No! You know how I got that amulet--I never thought that you'd . . . well, you know!" Her cheeks were flushed again, but with anger now.  
  
"Oh, yeah, because perfect Angel gave it to you, so you didn't consider that maybe he was playing some angle, that there might be some danger to whoever wore the bloody thing."  
  
"Well, we found out the hard way, didn't we?" she shouted at him. "Of course, you never go away! You had to come back, just to make my life more difficult!"  
  
"What the hell? Make YOUR life more difficult?" he roared. "You haven't fucking talked to me, or anyone! How the hell could I make your life more difficult if I didn't even know you knew that I was alive?"  
  
"Your mere existence makes my life harder! I look at you, and I see someone who knows me better than myself, and that scares me so much that I don't want to think about you at all!" By the time she finished, tears were rolling down her cheeks.  
  
"You bitch," Spike hissed. "The waterworks aren't gonna work on me. Listen to me. I've spent this whole year, since I got back, trying to get over you. And I finally did it, and I'm not gonna fall for you again just because you show up, kiss me and then do this weepy act. It's not gonna work, *Slayer*."  
  
Her eyes had snapped to his face as he spoke, and her lip trembled as she spoke. "You got over me? Why?"  
  
"Oh, gee, let me think. Could it be because I had no idea where you were, what you were doing, how you were feeling? Or maybe it was because I was stuck in the middle of an evil law firm, run by the vampire I hate most in the world, and coincidentally enough, your ex-boyfriend? Perhaps it was even the fact that I got accepted by the people in said evil law firm, and I realized that I didn't need to go chasing after Buffy like a faithful dumb mutt?" He moved towards her, and leaned down, invading her personal space. "But I think the real answer to your question is, because I found out that loving you was a form of suicide by slow degrees."  
  
Buffy whipped her head back like she had been struck. She took a giant step back from him, yet her tears stopped and she lifted her chin, looking defiant. "Well, once again, irony, thy name is Buffy. I guess telling you I love you was just the trick to make you get over me."  
  
She moved to leave the alley, but Spike grabbed her arm. "What did you just say?"  
  
She pulled her arm out of his grip. "You heard me. I love you, you stupid bastard." Before Spike could say anything else, she stalked off, her bootheels clomping on the asphalt and growing quieter as she walked out of the alley and away from him.  
  
He turned and watched her leave, and even took a step forward, before his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, barely noticing the demon corpse he had landed besides. This day had to be a dream; only a dream would be so absurd. Buffy's return, his ability to stay calm, the fight, the kiss . . . he had to be dreaming. Because only in his dreams had Buffy ever said she loved him.   
  
Spike ran his hands through his hair. Why was this bothering him so much? He knew he had moved on; he knew it as a fact of life, like the color of his eyes or the year he had been turned. So why was the prospect that Buffy loved him throwing him for a loop? It shouldn't bother him, if he wasn't in love with her anymore, when she said she loved him.   
  
But all the rationalization in the world couldn't make his stomach stop churning. Couldn't stop the shakes in his hands as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Didn't keep him from reliving her saying the words, even if her voice was tinged with anger and regret. He sat in the alley, chain-smoking, as he tried to come to grips with the way his world had been turned on its axis. The bedrock of his life for the last four years was that Buffy would never love him. Yet now it appeared that he had been wrong. She loved him.  
  
Sometime around his sixth cigarette, he paused in his reflections. What had she said? Something about telling him she loved him was the way to make him leave? Where did that come from? Tonight was the first time she had said anything about love to him--well, anything that wasn't an emphatic denial of any possible love she felt for him. She had always been so firm when they were sleeping together that she didn't love him. But her denials couldn't hide the emotions in her eyes, so he had kept hoping right up until the moment that he crashed into his crypt after he had tried to rape her.  
  
Spike closed his eyes and let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He felt the same wave of guilt, horror, and anger that he experienced every time he remembered that dark spring night. It was that memory that continued to shape his life. He got his soul because of it. Once he returned to Sunnydale, he had avoided Buffy, and any thought of love, for months. It was only at rare moments that he broke his silence and even said the words to her. And those moments were never about him, but about her.   
  
He snorted. "Everything is about her, you git. Remember? That's only the bloody reason you wanted to get over her."   
  
He pulled himself to his feet, frowning a bit at the corpses. He missed the days when he could have just left them laying about, but as a good guy now, one of the rules was concealment of demons from the humans. So he shouldered each of the demons and tossed them in a dumpster that sat at the end of the alley. With that done, he picked up the small axe that Buffy had left, and headed back towards the car.   
  
He didn't see Buffy along the way, and he felt relieved. She'd be able to make it back to Angel's, he knew, so he merely got in the car and headed back to Wolfram and Hart's. At this time of night, there was little traffic so his attention returned to the swirling mess of his thoughts. He was so confused. He felt like he had suddenly been told that up was really down, and it was a feeling he didn't enjoy.   
  
The time on the dashboard clock was just after 2:00 a.m. when he pulled into the parking garage. He headed to his office, thinking only of his bed, and nearly gave a prayer of thanks when he made it to his room without running into anyone. He closed the door and locked it, and then leaned against it.   
  
Spike stared at his room, and felt incredibly tired. No wonder Angel seemed more stolid and unmoving every year; it was easier to appear impassive, than to feel so much and be so tired. And he was exhausted.   
  
He stripped and climbed into bed, sure that sleep would come quickly. But instead, he spent hours looking at the ceiling tiles, trying to once again figure out how in the world Buffy loved him.   
  
And trying to figure out if he even really cared.   
  
End, Chapter 3 


	4. Chapter Four

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.   
  
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.  
  
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!  
  
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for himself.  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter 4  
  
A loud banging pulled Spike from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into during the early hours of the morning. He laid in bed for a moment, before groaning and calling out, "Just a minute," to whoever was trying to use brute strength to communicate. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor as he walked to the door. He flipped the lock, and pulled the shirt over his head as he waited for the door to open.  
  
Instead of seeing a face, he saw a fist fly towards his face. He let it make impact, and felt his head snap around. Expecting Angel, he was surprised to see that it was Fred.  
  
"Buffy came in last night, crying like her heart was broken. She told me what you said. For God's sake, Spike, I never thought you'd be that cruel!"  
  
Fred stalked inside and slammed the door, and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Spike stared at her, holding his cheek.   
  
"Fred? What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
She glared at him. "I'm talking about being maliciously hurtful towards the woman you say that you'll always love."  
  
"Whose friend are you, mine or hers?" he said angrily, although in the back of his head he felt like the other shoe had finally dropped. They were finally going to turn on him, and this all-too-brief period of friendship and teamwork was coming to an end.  
  
His question seemed to take the anger out of Fred, and she deflated like a balloon. "I'm yours, of course. Oh, Spike, I'm sorry. I . . . Buffy's story hit a nerve with me, and I flew off the handle. I'm so sorry--can you forgive me?"  
  
His head snapped up from the floor, his thoughts veering away from the plans he'd been making to leave now that it was all over. "What?"  
  
"Can you forgive me?" she asked quietly. "I was in the wrong, to take Buffy's side without hearing yours first. I feel like a lousy friend and an even worse person now."  
  
Spike felt a bubble of relief rise up within him and pop, leaving happiness in its wake. "Oh, love, there's nothing to forgive." He dropped his gaze. "I-I did say some awful things to Buffy last night. But she just gets me so worked up and I get defensive." He brought his gaze back to her face, and saw that she was ready to protest. He held up his hand and said, "Apology accepted."  
  
She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug. Spike took a deep sniff of her hair, enjoying the smells that made her Fred--chamomile, sugar, and a faintly chemical odor that he ascribed to the lab. With a squeeze, she let him go, and moved over to the couch.  
  
"So, you want to tell me what happened last night?" she said, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
"What did Buffy tell you?" he asked cautiously.  
  
Fred shook her head. "Uh-huh. You first."  
  
Spike sighed, and sat down next to her. "It seemed normal at first. I mean, we were patrolling, just catching up a bit, then we ran into some demons that had cornered two girls. A bit of quipping, and we got into the fight. Good fight, too--I'll always love fighting with Buffy. She's the best, and I would know," he said, giving Fred a look. She nodded, and he continued. "The fight finished, and we're just standing there amidst the bodies. And she's just staring at me. Bloody odd it is. So I go to shake her a little, and she hugs me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. And, I hugged her back, because for all I knew, she was getting weak from demon fumes or something." He shook his head. "Unrui demons, which I suspect emit some gas that makes humans act completely irrational."  
  
"Spike, what happened next?" Fred prodded.   
  
"She kissed me."  
  
Fred sat up a bit. "And?"  
  
He shrugged. "Well, it was good. Really good," he said. "I kissed her back. But then I just . . . stopped. It didn't seem right, to kiss her. Like we were putting the cart before the horse, just like before. So I pulled away from her, and she's blathering on about how she's missed me and how 'no one says my name like you do, Spike.'" He frowned. "Of course, this is setting off all my 'danger, danger!' instincts, so I get in a huge fight with her."  
  
"What did you say?" Fred asked, her voice soft and concerned.  
  
"Things that I was too mad to think about not saying, and things I probably shouldn't have said, and let's just leave it at that. I told her I had spent the last year getting over her, and she wasn't happy to hear that, much less why I made myself move on." He paused, and chose his words carefully. "So she said, 'I guess telling you I loved you was the perfect way to make you get over me.'" He looked up at Fred, confused. "I don't understand. She's saying this, like she's told me before that she's loved me. But she never has. *Never*," he emphasized when he saw Fred preparing to interrupt. "She always insisted there was no way she could love me while we were sleeping together. And then, after I got my soul . . . " His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. "Well, circumstances didn't lend themselves to courtship, even if we had wanted to go that route."  
  
"How do you feel?" Fred asked.   
  
"Confused," Spike said. "I feel like I don't know which way is up, and it's all her fault. She had to come back and screw me over one more time, for old times' sake I guess." He leaned back against the couch, and closed his eyes.   
  
He could feel Fred leaning back as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He threw his arm around her shoulder, grateful for the contact. Fred was the only one who seemed to get how tactile he was, and give him opportunities to touch her. It was nice to hug her without worrying about whether she'd flinch away, like Buffy had when he'd first returned.   
  
He softly groaned, and made himself think of the present problem. "So, Dixie, wanna tell me what the Slayer said when she was crying on your shoulder?"  
  
Fred seemed to hesitate a bit, and then asked, "Spike, what do you remember of your last moments? You know, before . . . "  
  
"I died?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She nodded solemnly. He sighed, and remembered those last moments in the Hellmouth.  
  
"Well, the amulet was doing its thing, and the whole place was starting to come down. Buffy came over to me and told me I had to leave, that it wasn't safe. I told her no: that I was going to stay and do the clean-up. She was . . . I don't know, worried, I guess? She didn't argue too much with me about leaving; I think she knew that this was what I had to do. But before she left . . . " He stopped, and relived the moment when he had felt closest to Buffy in all the years he had known her. "She reached over, and put her palm against mine, and our fingers were intertwined. It was beautiful," he said. Understatement, that. It had been a revelation greater than sex.   
  
Fred broke the reverie he'd fallen into. "And then what happened?"  
  
He shrugged. "She left and I went up like a Roman candle." He looked at Fred curiously. "You know all this, Fred. Why are you asking about this?"  
  
She fiddled a bit with the lapel of her lab coat, and said, "I think you need to talk to Buffy."  
  
He resisted the urge to groan. "Oh, no. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid her."  
  
"Even when you have to patrol tonight?"  
  
"We've had plenty of times when we've patrolled out of necessity rather than desire."  
  
"Still, do you think it's a sign of progress when you want to avoid her? I would think that you were scared of her--of what she has to say for herself." Fred inched away from him a bit, and took a deep breath. "Perhaps you're scared that she might convince you to change your mind?"  
  
He scowled at her. "You don't have to be all smart and logical about it, not to mention making me feel like a right pansy."  
  
She patted his knee and said with a grin, "It's what I'm paid to do. Except for the pansy-making, of course." Her grin faded a bit. "Spike, I really think you need to talk to Buffy and get her side of the story." When he started to protest, she held up her hand. "What if you have dinner with her, but Gunn goes with you on patrol? Buffy's staying with me tonight--I already invited her--so that way, you can talk, and don't have to worry about then having to work with her if things get awkward."  
  
He looked at her from underneath his brows. "Are you up to something?"  
  
Fred snorted. "Please, you don't know me that well if you think I could pull off something sneaky."  
  
"You've always got to watch the quiet ones," he said, running his hand over her hair. "All right, all right. I'll do it, but only because you're supporting Buffy on this one. If I had my way, I'd crawl into a Jack Daniels bottle and not come out till she left."  
  
Fred got up, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Exactly the reason for the plan, silly," she said before turning and leaving.  
  
Spike shook his head, and then pulled himself from the couch. He had a feeling that this dinner tonight wasn't going to be pretty, but Fred was right. Even though he didn't care for Buffy anymore romantically, he owed her the chance to talk about things and clear the air. Besides, he knew that ending things on a fight just meant that they'd have to deal with the issues later on. Better to deal with things now.  
  
With pessimistically hopeful thoughts, he showered and got dressed, and then got to work before he had to deal with Buffy.  
  
***  
  
At 5:30, a knock sounded on his door. Spike tossed the manuscript he'd been working on to the side, and got up from the couch. He found Buffy on the other side of the door, looking nervous, sad, and beautiful. She twisted her fingers together, seemingly unable to look at him. "Um, hi."   
  
He could feel his gaze roaming around, pretending to look at her while trying hard not to. "Why don't you come in for a minute--I'd like to change." He gestured over towards the mini-bar. "Help yourself to water, a drink--I'll be right back."   
  
He escaped into his bedroom, where he quickly washed up in the adjoining bathroom--sans mirror, of course--before turning to his closet. He had worn jeans and another t-shirt all day, so he was happy to drop them on the floor and change into a pair of slacks. He stood in front of his closet, though, pondering his shirts. He reached for a blue button-down, but as his hand made contact with the fabric, he had a sudden memory of Buffy once saying that she wished he'd wear blue more often. He drew his hand back like he had been scorched, and then quickly grabbed a black silk shirt and threw it on. Knowing that he was taking too long, Spike shoved his feet into a pair of black Doc Martens, instead of his scuffed boots, and then headed out into the living room.   
  
Buffy turned from where she'd been contemplating the only piece of art hung in the room, a swirling abstract work in shades of red, black, and grey. "I like this painting," she said, her voice sincere yet sounding a bit defensive, like she was expecting him to deny her feelings. But he only nodded, and explained that it had been a gift from Gunn for his birthday. She looked surprised, but didn't say anything as he grabbed his jacket and keys, and escorted her out of his office.  
  
In the garage, he took the Viper out of habit, but then worried that Buffy would think he was choosing that car because she had liked it. Suddenly, he realized how he was already second-guessing himself, doing things because Buffy liked them or going against his preferences to spite her. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention on the road as he drove them to one of the restaurants he preferred. It was a sophisticated, elegant place, but it was also distinguished by great food and that air of laidback nonchalance that California seemed to create in everything. He hoped the surroundings would help keep this evening from going to hell in a handbasket.  
  
He waited until they had placed their drink orders before speaking. "I want you to know that I'm here to talk because Fred said I needed to hear your side. I don't know what you have to add to what we both already know, but because she asked, I'm here."  
  
Buffy nodded, her face a blank mask. "I see. Are you involved with her?"  
  
Spike nearly laughed at the suggestion. "With Fred?"  
  
Buffy blushed but spoke in a controlled voice. "You're very close to her, and she's very sweet and caring. She reminds me of Dawn and Willow, and you always liked both of them."  
  
Spike nodded. "You're right, Dixie is a combo of some of Dawn and Will's good parts, as well as a sprinkling of her own unique qualities. She was my first friend at Wolfram and Hart because she was big-hearted enough to work and work and work to try and make me corporeal again. But we're not seeing each other--she's been dating some fellow science geek for about a year now."  
  
Buffy's eyes had widened a bit, and her cheeks had grown even more flushed as he spoke. She sighed, and looked down at her plate, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking about things that aren't my business."  
  
Spike sighed. "Buffy, look at me."  
  
She looked up at him, an expression extremely familiar on her face. The old deer-in-headlights look was firmly fixed on her face.   
  
He spoke softly and quietly, trying very hard to keep emotion out of his voice. "Despite what I said, I didn't want us to finish everything up by walking away after a fight. I've never walked away before, and I didn't want to start now. I was hoping that tonight we could . . . clear the air a bit. Try to meet in the middle."  
  
Buffy's expression had grown more blank as he spoke, and her voice was equally emotionless. "Yes, I'd like that."  
  
The waiter arrived and placed their drinks in front of them, and then took their orders. When he left, Spike took a quick gulp of his wine for courage, and then started things rolling. "Why don't we start from the beginning, and you tell me what you've been up to in the past year, and how you knew I was alive."  
  
Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, I've been doing a couple of different things. A lot of traveling to meet up with the new Slayers, explain to them what's happened to them, tell them about the facilities in Devon that Giles has set up. We invite all the Slayers to come there, to get an introduction to slaying and learn more about the new Watcher's Council."  
  
"Is there anyone other than Giles left?" Spike questioned.  
  
Buffy nodded. "He's contacted quite a few Watchers that had gotten kicked out, as well as relying on Watchers who were in the field when the Council's headquarters were blown up."   
  
Spike tilted his head. "Yet he never replied to any of Wes' phone calls or emails asking for information. Not that Wesley wants to go back, but he was curious about what resources were available to Giles and wanted to help out."  
  
Buffy looked down at the table. "I don't know about that one. Honestly, I've barely spent any time in Devon. It was . . . easier, after everything that happened, to keep moving."  
  
"Have done it myself," Spike said softly, and the words brought back the memory of watching Buffy come down the stairs in her now-vanished house, blood all over her knuckles . . .   
  
Buffy's voice was rough as she continued speaking. "It's only been in the last month or so that I finally started slowing down a bit. I guess I figured a year was long enough to keep running and I had to start facing the rest of my life."  
  
Spike looked at her, wondering at the changes she'd gone through. She had once told him that she had never been out of California, and he had secretly wished that he could take her all over the world, show her the places he'd seen before, give her new experiences and all the sights she'd ever want to see. Now, she'd done it all on her own, and it had changed her. He thought he detected a little more flexibility in her attitudes, a bit more understanding of other viewpoints. It was good to see.  
  
"Did you enjoy traveling?" he said, anxious to discover if she realized the changes he could see.   
  
A smile touched her face. "It was thrilling, even at the end when I was so sick of living out a suitcase and always having to buy things that I'd left behind. I've got so many stamps in my passport now, I'm gonna need to get a new one."  
  
He smiled at her, and said, "I'm glad. Really."  
  
Her expression was far-off as she said, "I know. Thank you."  
  
He leaned back in his chair, toying with the silverware, before he said, "And me? How did you find out about me?"  
  
Buffy's eyes lost the dreamy expression as she looked at him. She asked, "What do you know about Slayer dreams?"  
  
Spike's brow furrowed. "Just the basic rumor. Prophetic dreams full of mumbo-jumbo that usually make perfect sense after the fact."  
  
Buffy snorted. "As always, freakily correct, Spike," she said with a small grin. "Yeah, they tend to be about as clear as mud. Way emotional, though." When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "The worst dreams I had were right before my seventeenth birthday. I never thought I'd have such vivid, confusing dreams again. And then the Hellmouth was closed."  
  
Spike sat up in his chair. "What happened?"  
  
"The dreams came back with a vengeance. I've never been good at the more mystical side of Slaying--dreams, sensing vampires, all that. I hadn't had a Slayer dream in over a year when they came back." She paused, and squared her shoulders. "You were in them."  
  
"I was?" he asked in surprise. Then, understanding dawned. "That's how you knew I was alive? Your dreams?"  
  
"I know it sounds crazy," she said. "For a while there, I definitely thought I was. I kept seeing you, dressed in your duster and jeans, but in the sunlight. I couldn't understand--I could tell you were inside a building, but you always were standing in a shaft of sunlight. And you'd say odd phrases to me."  
  
"Like what?" he said, having a feeling what she'd say.  
  
"Weird things," Buffy said with a frown. "Like 'Mountain Dew' and 'Chico and the Man.' I didn't think you were in my dreams just to dispense advice on pop culture. But . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she took a large gulp of her water. "I-I liked seeing you. I didn't want to question things too much because I didn't want the dreams to end. Last November, I woke up from one of the dreams and realized that it must mean you were alive, somehow. After that, I got a few more details--I figured out you were in L.A. from seeing the skyline through a window. And I was planning on coming to see you, really."  
  
"So what happened?" Spike asked, his voice clipped.  
  
Buffy bit her lip. "Truthfully? I was scared. Scared that no, I actually was going crazy. I didn't understand why the dreams would have come back like this, and it hurt too much to think about them. So I started doing everything I could to take my mind off them. All the traveling, training till I was so exhausted I could sleep without dreaming, every trick in the book so I wouldn't dream. I even lied to Willow, said I was having nightmares so she made up some special tea that would block dreams." She stared at her plate. "Yet a night I didn't see you, I'd wake up feeling empty." She brought her eyes up to him. "No matter what happens, Spike, please believe that I'm very happy for you. That you're alive."  
  
Spike felt moderately gobsmacked by the story she had unspun for him. It seemed plausible enough, especially her choice to deny what she was feeling rather than face it. Yet he still felt like there was some piece missing out of the puzzle--that was what had him confused.   
  
Before he could ask her another question, their food arrived, and he made himself start eating. Buffy ate enthusiastically, which he was pleased to see. He ate more slowly, trying to find the right words to express himself. Finally, he grew annoyed with his hesitation and just started speaking.  
  
"Buffy . . . " She looked up from her fish, and even put her fork down.   
  
"Yes, Spike?"  
  
He frowned a bit. "Um, well, I have a question for you. And I know how this is going to sound . . . but when did you tell me you loved me before last night?"   
  
Buffy's mouth dropped open, and then she started sputtering. "What?"  
  
"Last night, you were talking like you had told me you loved me. Before, I mean. But . . . unless you said something to me during my crazy period, you have never said you loved me. I'm not saying you should have, at any point. I knew a long time ago that you'd never love me. Or at least, I thought so."  
  
Buffy's face was the textbook definition of shocked. "You-you-you don't remember?"  
  
"Remember what?" he said in frustration. "I feel like I'm in some bad movie where the amnesiac is told he has a wife he can't remember."  
  
Buffy took a deep breath. "It happened in the Hellmouth," she said quickly.   
  
"The Hellmouth?" Spike asked.  
  
"Yeah. Um, the amulet was working, and I came over and tried to get you to leave. You didn't want to leave, and I knew that I couldn't convince you. So I reached out--"  
  
"And took my hand," Spike said. "And then you left."  
  
She shook her head. "There was more. When our hands touched--they lit on fire."  
  
"On fire?" he echoed in surprise.   
  
Buffy sniffed a bit. "Yes. It was like . . . like our souls were touching, Spike. It was so beautiful. It did something to me, to feel you like that. And I said 'I love you.'" She dropped her eyes, as if drawing upon her courage. She then looked at him. "I said 'I love you,' and you said, 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then you told me to leave."  
  
Spike felt his own mouth drop open. "That's what happened?"  
  
Buffy didn't speak. Her lips were trembling, and she was staring at her half-eaten dinner. He watched her for a moment, and then reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. "Hey, Buffy?"  
  
She raised her head and looked at him, tears in her eyes. "You didn't believe me, and I left you, and then you were dead. But I was so numb, I couldn't seem to care about anything. And then I had the first dream, and I woke up crying. I cried for hours--Dawn and Willow were so scared at how I sobbed. And I couldn't bear their sympathy. It was all wrong. So I left, and started traveling all the time. I was running away. But it didn't help. I still had the dreams, still missed you. I felt so guilty because you were always there for me, and I was never there for you. Too little, too late."   
  
A tear fell onto her cheek, and her voice was choked when she continued. "Logically, I knew why you said what you did. But that didn't mean much when I kept thinking 'he didn't believe me, he died not believing me.'"  
  
"God, Buffy," he said, feeling a jumble of emotions at her words. Shock at this turn of events, guilt and sympathy for her pain, and even a small bit of joy at the thought that she had finally said it to him, and meant it. He squeezed her hand gently.   
  
"I don't know what happened in Sunnydale, Buffy." He tried to choose his words very carefully. "And I'm sorry for what you've suffered. I would never want that for you. Ever since I came back, and realized I was stuck in L.A. and couldn't find you, I hoped that you were happy, that you were living that 'normal' life you wanted so much. I . . . I wish now I had tried to find you, if only so you wouldn't had to keep feeling this way."  
  
She bit her lip, and wiped away her tears. "But you don't love me, do you?"   
  
He shook his head. "It's not quite so cut-and-dried, luv. I'll always love you. But, like I said, I told myself that you were happy without me. So I tried to move on. Didn't want to spend the rest of my life moping around, using massive amounts of hair gel and being a grand poof." He grinned a bit, hoping to make her smile, but only to be met with more tears. His smile faded, and he made himself go on. "Buffy, I have a good life here. Friends, even family if you want to stretch the definition of the word. I do good work here, and that's what I want. I can't make up for what I did before . . . but I can help others for as long as I can."  
  
"And I don't fit anywhere in this new life of yours?" she asked, not bothering now to wipe away her tears.  
  
Spike sighed. "Buffy, do you see yourself fitting? You've spent so long answering to others, and now that you're really free, you're trying to do what you think you should do, instead of what you want to do." He paused, and felt his own voice grow deep with emotion. "Buffy, if this isn't what you want, I don't think I could bear letting you go, after having you for real."  
  
Buffy sat back in her chair, pulling her hand out of Spike's. "Everyone keeps telling me that I don't think about myself. Giles, Dawn, and now you. Why is it, when I'm saving the world and being a general, I'm ignoring my feelings, but when I try to show my feelings, I'm being too soft?" She sniffed. "I'm so tired of people telling me what I should feel, what I should do. That I'm always doing the wrong thing. I never thought you'd do that."  
  
"Slayer, didn't you hear what I said? I'm thinking of myself, and that's what I want you to do. Because I don't want to live on hope anymore. I want to know what a real relationship is like."  
  
The tears were rolling down her face faster. "Well, that's what I want, too. And I want it with you. I love you."  
  
Spike paused, wondering how to answer her. Hearing the words knocked him for a loop, yet amidst the shock and happiness still lingered a kernel of doubt, of mockery. It sounded a lot like her, shouting that he was evil and unclean, that nothing good could be within him . . .   
  
She seemed to take his silence as an answer. She shook her head in anger and sadness, and looked at him. "Spike, you're so stupid. You can't think of yourself, *and* be in a real relationship. It doesn't work like that." She stood up, yet paused by his chair. "I guess you were just being honest when you said I didn't love you. Because you don't believe me." She seemed to be staring into his eyes, forcing him to look at her and see all her misery. "If you find you change your mind, I'll be staying at Fred's till Friday morning."   
  
She leaned down, and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips. She pulled back, and whispered, "All I want is you." And with that, she walked out of the restaurant.  
  
Spike watched her leave, gazing at the straight set of her shoulders, the determination in her walk. Only Buffy could throw herself at your feet, yet make you feel like you were surrendering to her. It was just one of the things he loved about her.  
  
And one of the many things that made it hard for him to see how they could be together. Today, tomorrow, or ever.   
  
End, Chapter 4 


	5. Chapter 5

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with  
  
them.  
  
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.  
  
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after  
  
that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!  
  
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find  
  
out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for  
  
himself.  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter Five  
  
For the second night in a row, Spike caught only a few hours of sleep.  
  
After his meal with Buffy, he had been both morose and murderous. He had  
  
headed out to patrol, meeting Gunn in Echo Park. Thankfully, the other man  
  
had realized pretty quickly that Spike wasn't in the mood to talk; an  
  
impression that was underscored when Spike ripped apart a Gwynnega with his  
  
bare hands. After that, Gunn hadn't said anything more than necessary, and  
  
they had headed back to Wolfram and Hart in the early hours of the morning.  
  
Spike knew that he had kept going much longer than was needed on patrol, but  
  
violence was the only outlet that would help unspool the knot of emotions  
  
that was tangled up in his middle. This should have been his dream come  
  
true: Buffy, open with him, saying she had missed him, that she was happy he  
  
was alive, that she loved him and wanted a relationship with him. But what  
  
if they were just words? What if she was only suffering from her adjustment  
  
to 'normal' life, and wanted something to cling to, or more correctly,  
  
someone? He had done that before, and he didn't know if he could bear the  
  
thought of being everything to her, for a while, only to be cast aside as  
  
nothing.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he stared at the ceiling for a few long moments.  
  
He was in new territory, and while he normally was one to just dive in and  
  
fight his way out, he didn't think that was the right strategy in this case.  
  
Because if he wasn't able to get through this, he'd be the one broken and  
  
blue.  
  
With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed, feeling dazed from the lack of  
  
sleep and the questions that kept bothering him. He showered, and barely  
  
noticed what clothes he pulled on. He distractedly drank some blood, and  
  
then buried himself in work. Translating brittle, crumbling documents  
  
engaged his mind enough to get some perspective on his thoughts.  
  
From Buffy's words last night, he got the sense that she was only now  
  
starting to figure out how she wanted to live her life. And she had  
  
seemingly decided that she had to have a relationship to make her life  
  
settled. She always seemed to be striving for love, comittment; in the  
  
years he'd lived in Sunnydale, he could remember only a handful of months  
  
where she wasn't involved with anyone, even if 'involved' was one way to  
  
describe their relationship at times. So, she wasn't used to being alone,  
  
and on top of the upheaval of being one of many Slayers, it wasn't  
  
surprising that she'd decided to latch onto a guy, any guy. Who better than  
  
the one who'd always loved her, no matter what? Heady stuff for someone who  
  
was always insecure when it came to love.  
  
'But what about her words last night? About those moments right before the  
  
Hellmouth was closed?' his mind prodded him. 'She said she saw your  
  
soul--she said I love you!'  
  
As much as his heart wanted to give in to the swell of feeling, his logic  
  
kept overruling it. He'd realized, in the last year, that his heart was so  
  
bruised that it only seemed to react in set patterns. Trying not to fall  
  
fast and deep was nearly impossible once he had started. So, he had started  
  
making his mind play a greater role in these times. And in this case, his  
  
mind was screaming at him to stay out of this. Let Buffy figure out things  
  
without him, make her stand on her own two feet, rely on her other friends.  
  
'Then you're no better than Rupert,' his heart chided. 'That's just what he  
  
did. You'd leave her to those friends who weren't able to help her before,  
  
let her sink under all those responsibilities and burdens?'  
  
"More than I've ever had," Spike grumbled out loud, before forcing his  
  
concentration back to the documents and the translation.  
  
***  
  
He dreaded the evening. Spending the night with Buffy and Angel wasn't his  
  
idea of a fun time in the best of situations, and this certainly was the  
  
worst of situations. He wondered how Buffy was going to act. Would she  
  
make a play for Angel since he'd given her the brush-off? What if Angel  
  
took her up on the offer? And why was he worrying about this? At most, he  
  
wanted to be friends with Buffy, and Angel and he had reached a tentative  
  
relationship in the last year. So wouldn't he want them to be happy  
  
together?  
  
Spike shook his head as he headed to Angel's office, where everyone was  
  
meeting. The whole gang was participating in this one, so at least he'd  
  
have other people around. Of course, that could be a draw-back, too, he  
  
realized as he realized he was the last one to arrive.  
  
Buffy gave him a look of longing and sadness, poignant despite its  
  
briefness. He felt his throat tighten, almost as if there were words that  
  
were prevented from being said. Things like "I love you and want you and  
  
will do whatever I can to make you happy." But instead of saying anything,  
  
he forced himself to break eye contact with Buffy and take in the other  
  
people in the room.  
  
Fred looked sympathetic, and gave him a small wave. Gunn nodded at him, and  
  
Spike made his way over and sat next to him on the sofa. Wes had his normal  
  
blank expression, but Angel hadn't troubled to hide his emotions. He glared  
  
at Spike, and Spike wondered how much Buffy had talked to him about last  
  
night's dinner.  
  
Thankfully, Angel only spent a few moments keeping them in suspense, before  
  
he started talking. "Spike," he said, his voice clipped, "give us all an  
  
update on what you've done to stop the Rite of Peesu-Brat from going ahead."  
  
Spike moved forward, feeling exposed but trying to keep focused on the job.  
  
"We've patrolled the area the last two nights, and kept at least five girls  
  
from being rounded up. Based on my sources, they're still shy a few  
  
sacrifices, but they're determined and probably will be able to make their  
  
quota. So stopping the ritual itself is now the goal. What I'd suggest  
  
doing is an undercover operation. I've got a Spewriter who's willing to  
  
work with me. I'd come to the ritual, using Fred as a 'sacrifice,' saying I  
  
was bringing her in to pay off a debt to the Spewriter. Meanwhile, the rest  
  
of you would take up defensive positions on the fringes. At my sign, we'll  
  
attack the various leaders and prevent them from doing the spells that they  
  
need to cast at a specific time. It'll be about distraction and  
  
incapacitation, and then killing. Most of these demons are fairly  
  
peaceable, and they don't give us trouble otherwise."  
  
Angel nodded. "I don't like the idea of Fred being the bait, though. Seems  
  
too dangerous for her. What about using Buffy?"  
  
"Um, as the choice for potential sacrifice, can I just say that I can take  
  
care of myself?" Fred interjected.  
  
Gunn shook his head. "Have to agree with the boss on this one. It's just  
  
too risky, Fred."  
  
Fred stared at Gunn, her eyes narrowed. "You *know* what I'm capable of,  
  
Charles. I can do this."  
  
Spike looked back and forth between Fred and Gunn. He got the sense that  
  
there was more to this than meets the eye, but before he could ask anything,  
  
Angel stepped in. "Look, Fred, we all know you're a good fighter, but in  
  
this situation, I think the Slayer would be a better choice. Buffy?"  
  
Buffy had kept her eyes on the floor during the discussion, but at this  
  
point, she quietly looked up at Angel and said, "If Spike is all right with  
  
it, I'll do it."  
  
Spike gaped at Buffy, surprised at how she hadn't immediately leaped forward  
  
to do what Angel had requested. When he realized that everyone was waiting  
  
for his answer, he quickly said, "Um, yeah, fine by me."  
  
Angel pushed back from his desk and stood up. "All right then. Let's get  
  
going."  
  
Spike followed the group out of the office and down to the parking garage.  
  
He chose to ride with Gunn and Wes. For a moment, it seemed like Buffy  
  
would choose their car, but after some hesitation, she sat behind Fred in  
  
Angel's car. Spike gave a small sigh when he climbed into the passenger  
  
seat of the car.  
  
As they drove to the site of the ritual, he could feel Wes's eyes on the  
  
back of his head. He was about ready to say something, when Gunn casually  
  
asked, "You okay with all this, Blondie?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "Got a job to do. I'll get it done, and then I won't have  
  
to see her again."  
  
"Well, I was talking more about the way that Angel pushed you aside in  
  
there, but I'm guessing that's not what you were thinking about," Gunn  
  
commented dryly.  
  
"Look," Spike said, his voice hard. "She's just a girl I once knew. And  
  
I've spent too long making something for myself here to throw it away for  
  
some girl who's never been able to make up her mind. First she wants me,  
  
then I'm disgusting. She's happy, then she's sad. Worse than a bloody  
  
see-saw. And I'm not willing to go for another ride and follow her halfway  
  
around the world."  
  
Wes spoke from the backseat. "You're certainly very insistent about staying  
  
here."  
  
"Yeah, how do you know you'd have to leave? Maybe the Slayer's willing to  
  
settle down," Gunn said.  
  
"End of discussion," Spike said angrily. "You don't know what's going on,  
  
so you're just interfering where you're not needed."  
  
"All right, Spike," Gunn said. But despite his agreement, Spike couldn't  
  
help feeling that Gunn wanted to press the issue. Spike sighed, and stared  
  
out the window, trying to project an anti-social vibe as they finished the  
  
drive to Echo Park.  
  
The evening was cool and breezy, as L.A. in early November usually was.  
  
They gathered at the edge of the park, and Spike spoke quietly, refusing to  
  
let Angel take this over. "All right, Slayer's with me. Fred and Angel,  
  
take position on that ridge up there," gesturing to a rise covered with  
  
trees. "Gunn, you take position towards the south, and Wes, you're on the  
  
eastern boundary. When I give the signal, start taking out the demons at  
  
the compass points; they're the ones who will be casting the spells. The  
  
Slayer and I will take out the ones in the middle and will work on getting  
  
the sacrifices out of here. We'll send the girls up towards Angel and Fred,  
  
so you guys will need to provide some cover for them. Everyone good?"  
  
Answered with nods, Spike said, "Okay, let's go."  
  
The others dispersed to their positions, leaving Spike alone with Buffy. He  
  
took a deep breath before speaking. "You gonna be able to do this?"  
  
Buffy didn't say anything for a moment, then she lifted her chin and looked  
  
at him defiantly. "I know how to work with people I'm upset with.  
  
Otherwise, the First Evil would be running the show now, wouldn't it?"  
  
Spike sighed, feeling embarrassment and regret. "I know that. I . . . "  
  
His voice trailed off, when he realized he just didn't know what to say. He  
  
muttered, "Come on, let's get this started," he said, holding up a trick set  
  
of handcuffs to bind her hands behind her. Buffy let him cuff her, but he  
  
could tell she was trying not to think about the other times he'd shackled  
  
her. Because he was certainly trying very hard not to think about the same  
  
thing.  
  
He placed his hand on her shoulder and lead her forward, into the mass of  
  
demons. Buffy whispered to him, "Just how many are we going to have to take  
  
out?"  
  
He said out of the corner of his mouth, "Six; two in the middle and four on  
  
the compass points. All the bystanders, innocent and otherwise, make it a  
  
bit tricky. But remember, it's just about keeping the ritual from being  
  
completed."  
  
She nodded, and rolled her shoulders a bit. He marveled, as her muscles  
  
moved, at how small she was and how much strength she had. The more fragile  
  
she looked, the more focused she was on unleashing her power when she could.  
  
They moved through the park, and without questions entered the area set  
  
aside for the ritual. Spike was amused to see that the demons had gotten a  
  
permit to use the park for the event. Spike made contact with the Spewriter  
  
he had worked with, and Buffy was lead over to join a large group of girls.  
  
Spike tried to make it look like he was hanging around, observing things.  
  
He stole a glance at his watch, and realized the spells would be starting in  
  
only a few moments.  
  
Suddenly, Buffy was at his side. "What the hell are you doing?" he  
  
whispered to her.  
  
She smiled weakly at him. "I told myself I wouldn't do this, but I just  
  
have to." She paused, and then looked directly at him. "I love you."  
  
Before he could respond, she quickly scampered back over to join the rest of  
  
the victims.  
  
He stared after her, as his brain suggested several reasons for her actions.  
  
But before he had a chance to ponder the situation anymore, he heard a  
  
murmured chant begin, and realized it was time. With a lightning-fast move,  
  
he ran towards the nearest warlock and quickly started punching him.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gunn come towards the ritual space, and  
  
he thought he spied Fred wielding a crossbow from the ridge. He heard  
  
Buffy's voice, directing the girls out of the area. But all his attention  
  
was focused on the crowd of demons swarming around him. Most of them were  
  
crap fighters, but going up against twenty-five assorted demons was still an  
  
undertaking.  
  
He threw punches and kicks, feeling his blood sing each time he made  
  
contact. This was what he was about. Violence, terror, the shouts of "It's  
  
Spike!" And even better, he knew he was doing this to protect people. This  
  
was what he had missed out on when he hung on the fringes of the Scooby  
  
Gang. He'd never really been able to let it loose and not worry about  
  
losing the respect of the people fighting with him. Before, if he had acted  
  
like this, he'd have Xander screaming that he'd gone evil, or Willow  
  
threatening him with some spell. Now, though, he could unleash it, and just  
  
as easily, tuck it away and go back to W&H for a movie night.  
  
This was what he didn't want to give up for Buffy.  
  
As if his thoughts had drawn her to him, he realized the Slayer had moved  
  
into a position behind him, and was easily dealing with a group of assorted  
  
demons. Within a few minutes, their opponents had been knocked out or run  
  
off. With a grin, he turned to Buffy.  
  
The Slayer was panting a bit, but she didn't even have a scratch on her.  
  
"All right, Buffy?" he said, the left-over adrenaline making him bounce on  
  
his toes.  
  
She nodded. "Just fine. Wow, that was fun. Low-risk yet still a good  
  
fight. Like low-impact aerobics."  
  
He chuckled a bit. "Glad to know we helped keep you in shape," he said, as  
  
Gunn, Wes, and Angel met up with them. "You lot all right?" he asked the  
  
others.  
  
"Fred's organizing getting all the girls home. Most live in the area, so I  
  
thought Gunn and Wes could help her with walking or driving them home. I  
  
need to go back to the office," Angel said.  
  
"Good," Spike said. "Slayer, you want to head back over to Wolfram & Hart  
  
with Angel? I better stay and help with the clean-up."  
  
The smile that had been on Buffy's face dimmed considerably. "Um, all  
  
right, I guess. I probably should pack some."  
  
"See you later, then," he said, and loped off towards the wooded area on top  
  
of the hill. He heard Wes and Gunn follow him after a few moments, and then  
  
Gunn caught up with him.  
  
"Putting her out of your mind, or just running away from her?" he  
  
questioned.  
  
"Sod off," Spike retorted, and Gunn wisely kept his mouth shut.  
  
***  
  
Spike groaned in relief when he arrived back at Wolfram and Hart. The  
  
clean-up had taken longer than he had thought it would, complicated by quite  
  
a few of the girls being traumatized by the events. Calming them down had  
  
taken a lot out of him, and considering he had barely gotten any sleep for  
  
the last two nights, all he wanted was his bed.  
  
He pulled up short, when he reached his door, and saw Buffy leaning against  
  
the wall. "Slayer, it's late, and I'm tired. I know you're not leaving  
  
till tomorrow afternoon, so can we postpone the goodbyes till then?"  
  
She pushed away from the wall and shook her head. "I'd rather not. In  
  
fact, I was hoping we could get out of here, go talk some."  
  
"Slayer, you seemed to indicate last night that you were gonna wait for me  
  
to come running back to you. So why the puppy dog routine?"  
  
She shrugged. "Lots of reasons. I've always sucked at being patient.  
  
Besides, I think I'm just taking a page out of your book: I'll be a nuisance  
  
until you pay attention to me."  
  
"Is that what you think I did?" he said. "Decided to torment you until you  
  
had to admit you loved me? 'Cause it worked so well for me."  
  
Buffy bit her lip. "Spike, I'm just asking for a bit of time. I know  
  
you're tired. If you give me this now, I'll leave tomorrow without  
  
insisting on the 'big goodbye scene'."  
  
He grumbled, "Just trying to get me while I'm in a weakened state," but  
  
tilted his head and made an 'after you' gesture towards the elevator.  
  
In the elevator, Buffy turned to him. "Is there some place nearby that we  
  
can get some coffee? Maybe something to eat?" He nodded, and that seemed  
  
to satisfy Buffy. They made the trip to the ground floor of W&H, and then  
  
down the block to a small coffee shop that Spike had discovered not long  
  
after he had become corporeal.  
  
Inside, he pulled off his jacket and ordered just coffee, while the Slayer  
  
requested the breakfast special. He leaned back in the booth and sipped his  
  
coffee while the Slayer plowed into her food.  
  
"You're hungry," he commented, as she used her toast to mop up the last of  
  
her fried egg.  
  
She nodded. "I didn't eat much today."  
  
"Not smart, Slayer," he said. "Need to keep your strength up. Was glad to  
  
see you had gained some weight when you showed up here."  
  
Buffy finished the last of her home fries without replying to his comment,  
  
and set her fork down on the table. "I had an interesting talk with Angel  
  
on the way back to the office."  
  
Spike sighed. "What did Angel have to say?"  
  
"Not much. Pretty close to his usual spiel. 'I love you but we can't be  
  
together.' 'Spike isn't to be trusted, despite the good things he's doing  
  
here.' 'He really seems to be over you.'" She crossed her arms over her  
  
chest. "He seemed pretty convinced. And determined to convince me, too,  
  
that you could care less about me."  
  
He shook his head. "I'll always care about you, Slayer. Just don't want to  
  
be in love with you. I don't want to walk down that road again."  
  
"Well, he seemed to certainly want me to think otherwise. I think he was  
  
hinting around that I should just admit that what Angel and I had would  
  
always be the prize in the Cracker Jack box o' love. That someday, we could  
  
be together again." She leaned forward, propping her chin up on her hands,  
  
her elbows on the table. "What do you think, Spike?"  
  
Spike stared at her, perplexed at the direction this conversation was  
  
taking. "What? You want me to give you advice about you and the Poof?"  
  
"You know, that's the first time you've said something mean about Angel  
  
since I arrived," Buffy noted. "Up till now, you were rather civil to him.  
  
Yes, Spike, I was wondering if you could give me some advice. We are  
  
friends, after all, according to you. Or are you now starting to believe  
  
what you said before, that you can never be friends with an old lover?"  
  
Spike shook his head, frustration and anger making his words clipped. "I  
  
only said that you and Angel could never be friends. That's not what I  
  
wanted for us. I want to be able to help you out, be an ear for you." He  
  
paused, and the anger took over. "But if you think I'm going to give you  
  
advice on you and that hair-gelled ponce, you're crazier than I ever was.  
  
No, thank you."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said, picking up her spoon and stirring the last bit of her  
  
coffee.  
  
A silence fell over the table, as Spike once again marveled at his inability  
  
to understand Buffy. At times like these, he realized that Dru, for all her  
  
insanity, was remarkably straight-forward.  
  
"I didn't believe him," Buffy said quietly. She looked up at him briefly,  
  
and then back down at her coffee cup. "I think he knew how I felt, and he  
  
was making a last-ditch effort. For Angel, the thought of losing me to you  
  
seems worse than just losing me."  
  
"He doesn't have anything to worry about," Spike said tiredly. "Did you  
  
tell him that?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Does it matter? He knows how I feel, so it's irrelevant  
  
whether you reciprocate or not."  
  
"And just how do you feel?" Spike asked in frustration. "You say you love  
  
me. But how? When? Clue in the guy who's been out of your life for the  
  
last year."  
  
"It's not like it happened while we were apart," she said slowly. "I knew  
  
before the last battle."  
  
"When did you know? When you were snogging Angel?"  
  
She shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, actually. I mean, sure, kissing is  
  
always nice. But . . . I knew. He wasn't the one I wanted to kiss. And as  
  
soon as it was done, I knew who I wanted to kiss. But I wasn't about to  
  
tell Angel that I loved you, before I told you. And besides, I meant what I  
  
said to him. I needed to spend some time baking. And I've had that time,  
  
and now I know I'm ready to be a cookie."  
  
"Huh?" Spike said, feeling thorougly confused.  
  
"Never mind," Buffy said, waving her hand. "The point is, I know who I  
  
want. And yes, I knew a long time ago, and I could have picked a better  
  
time to tell you. But, Spike, you remember how it was," she said softly.  
  
"I kept telling myself that I'd talk to you after it was all over. Because  
  
if I didn't give myself something to look forward to, I didn't know if I  
  
could keep it all together." Her voice broke, but she continued. "So when  
  
we were in the Hellmouth, and we were holding hands . . . I realized that  
  
there wasn't going to be an 'after.' I had to tell you then. And I even  
  
know why you didn't believe me then. But please don't tell me that you  
  
still don't believe me."  
  
Spike looked at her, at her green eyes, large and bright with unshed tears.  
  
She was biting her lower lip, and her hands were clenched together, resting  
  
on the table. He was just so amazed by the changes in her. It didn't seem  
  
possible that this trembling girl was the same stone-faced general that had  
  
lead her massively out-numbered and under-trained army of girls into a  
  
Hellmouth and come out on top. Yet despite her emotions getting the better  
  
of her, she was still looking directly at him, her chin raised, not giving  
  
any ground. She was holding fast, determined to make him believe her.  
  
And God help him, he did.  
  
Spike sighed deeply. "I believe you."  
  
Buffy let loose a small squeak of surprise, but kept staring at him. Her  
  
stare unnerved him, and he quickly started speaking. "I'm not saying I want  
  
a relationship with you, mind. I'm just saying . . . that what you said, I  
  
believe that you mean it. And . . . and it's good to hear."  
  
Buffy nodded slowly, before snapping out of her trance-like state. "Thank  
  
you, Spike."  
  
At that, another silence fell between them, heavier and full of questions  
  
and emotions. He stared at the table, out the window, at the waitress who  
  
was skimming through a newspaper, anywhere but at her. Finally, he blurted  
  
out the first thing he could think of.  
  
"So, what are your plans now?"  
  
Buffy's mouth opened, then closed. "Um, I had thought some about going back  
  
to school. Don't need to worry so much about dying young, especially since  
  
I've already done it twice, you know, so school seems like a better  
  
investment now. I was thinking about studying psychology . . . I liked the  
  
class I took with Dr. Walsh, before she turned out to be evil, which I'm  
  
sure you remember," she said, her forehead furrowed. "Plus, I really liked  
  
my work with the students at the high school. So maybe I'll go into  
  
counseling. Most of the time it's just sitting and listening, and I can do  
  
both of those things pretty well. When I'm not babbling, I mean, like right  
  
now," she said with a grimace.  
  
"No, I asked for a reason," Spike said. He was trying to put together the  
  
puzzle pieces. Maybe he hadn't been right, when he thought Buffy was  
  
latching onto him to keep herself from drowning. "Do you know where you  
  
want to go?"  
  
"It's a bit up in the air right now. Dawn's pretty settled in England, and  
  
she's nearly eighteen. She'd like to stay with Willow and Giles until  
  
college, so if I wanted to, I could move back to the States and I wouldn't  
  
have to worry too much. I mean, more than I naturally would. I prefer it  
  
over here; I'm tired of all the rain. I was kinda thinking about Arizona,  
  
maybe Florida. Warm, you know."  
  
"Not California?" Spike commented.  
  
She shook her head rather emphatically. "San Francisco is too cold and  
  
rainy. Just like England, really. And as for L.A. . . ." Her voice  
  
trailed off, and she spun her coffee cup around on its saucer. "I was  
  
waiting till after I left here to really decide. But I thought that it  
  
might be uncomfortable to be so close."  
  
Spike swallowed, and didn't ask for more information. He had a good idea  
  
what she meant. She looked up at him at this point, her eyes curious. "So  
  
what about you? Fred told me about how you were all ghost-like for a while,  
  
and then one day, bam, solid!Spike. Are you still stuck in L.A.?"  
  
"Nope. Found that out pretty quickly," Spike said. "Just so you know . . .  
  
I didn't think of you immediately. But damn soon thereafter. And I was  
  
going to go haring off to Europe to find you, but I had to stay because of  
  
trouble here. Then, whenever I started getting ready to go, something else  
  
would come up. After a while, I started thinking that maybe it wasn't that  
  
I couldn't leave, but that I shouldn't leave. Maybe I was here for a  
  
reason."  
  
Buffy looked at him with a steadfast gaze. "You've never really seemed to  
  
believe in fate or prophecies," she said. "What changed your mind?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "Long story. Basically, I started realizing that being  
  
souled, like Angel, changed things around a bit in the cosmic scheme of  
  
things. And I wanted to get to the bottom of it all. Staying here in Los  
  
Angeles seemed the best way to find out what was going on. So I stayed."  
  
"And you got over me," Buffy said quietly.  
  
Spike nodded. "And I got over you."  
  
"Maybe that was what you were here for," she said. "Maybe you had to bake,  
  
just like me."  
  
"Still confused by the whole baking analogy, pet," Spike said dryly. "But  
  
if I have the gist of things, perhaps you're right. Had to spend some time  
  
finishing what I started in Sunnyhell, thanks to the Principal and all.  
  
Learn how to be my own man, finally." He flashed a small grin at her.  
  
"It's only taken me about a hundred and thirty years. Makes one wonder how  
  
those of you with shorter lifespans manage to mature at all."  
  
Buffy grinned back at him. "Well, some of us are less mature than others,"  
  
she said.  
  
The grins felt good, Spike realized. They had run the gamut of emotions  
  
during their talk, and it was time for them to relax a bit. It had gone  
  
better than he ever would have expected, to be honest. He had expected  
  
Buffy to start insisting, after he confessed he believed her, that he had to  
  
still be in love with her. Yet though she seemed sad at his decision, she  
  
wasn't pushing him, wasn't trying to call the tune. Perhaps she really had  
  
started to grow up.  
  
The waitress waddled over to their booth, and asked if she could refill  
  
their coffee, but after a glance at Spike, Buffy declined for the both of  
  
them. The waitress nodded, dropped their check on the table, and headed  
  
back to the counter.  
  
"Well, I guess this is it," he said softly. "What time do you leave  
  
tomorrow?"  
  
"Have a flight leaving LAX around 7," she said. "With security being what  
  
it is, not to mention traffic, I'll be leaving for the airport around four."  
  
Spike nodded. "Well, come on, pet, let's pay the bill and shove off."  
  
She sighed, and said, "All right. I'll take care of this one," she said,  
  
picking up the check.  
  
"No, I can take it--have money of my own, you know. Got Angel to finally  
  
agree to give me a paycheck," he said with a smirk.  
  
"Nah, I've got it," she said. "Next time I'm in town, though, you'll  
  
treat." She paused. "That is, if you'd like to have dinner with me, the  
  
next time I visit."  
  
He chose not to think too much about how he was already excited for that  
  
future dinner, and answered her question with a joke. "As long as you keep  
  
in touch before you return, just so I know we're still on."  
  
Buffy smiled a little, and then headed over to the register. They headed  
  
out of the coffee shop, and Spike noticed that dawn wasn't far away. He  
  
could smell the sun, feel that small itch in his bones that would grow more  
  
insistent, reminding him to seek shelter. But for now, he was happy to  
  
slowly walk back to W&H, Buffy silent at his side. They took the elevator  
  
upstairs, and Buffy said, "I'm going to go crash on the couch in Fred's  
  
office." She looked at him for a moment, and then, as if she was building  
  
up her courage, said softly, "Can I give you a hug? I know it's silly to  
  
ask, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."  
  
Spike smiled at her. "Sure, pet," he said, holding his arms away from his  
  
body. With a quiet exhalation, Buffy wrapped her arms around his body, and  
  
he held her tightly. He closed his eyes, and remembered that dance he'd had  
  
with Harmony, when he had thought about how good it felt to hold a woman.  
  
Nobody had ever felt as good as Buffy felt to him right now.  
  
All too soon, the moment was over, and she stepped away from him. "I'll be  
  
calling you soon," she said, pasting a bright smile on her face. "I'll call  
  
you at inconvenient times, and claim it's because I can't figure out the  
  
time change. But really it'll be because I want to annoy you."  
  
He laughed a bit with her, but he could see the tinge of sadness in her  
  
eyes. He wondered if his own eyes reflected the bittersweetness he felt,  
  
too. "I'm looking forward to it, Buffy." He was struck with an impulse,  
  
and instead of questioning it, he went for it. He leaned down, brushed a  
  
kiss across her cheek, and said, "Bye, Slayer."  
  
When he drew back, he could see tears in her eyes again, but they both  
  
ignored them. "See you soon, Spike," she said with another too-bright  
  
smile, before she turned and headed towards the lab.  
  
Spike shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and slowly walked to his  
  
office. The burden of exhaustion he carried seemed light compared to the  
  
feelings that were dragging him down. But he was too tired to think about  
  
such things right now. Once in his room, he dropped his jacket on the  
  
floor, toed off his shoes, and then dropped face-down on his bed. He fell  
  
into sleep, and his last memory was of how soft her cheek had been beneath  
  
his lips.  
  
End, Chapter 5 


	6. Chapter 6

Putting the Question  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.   
  
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.  
  
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!  
  
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for himself.  
  
Putting the Question  
  
Chapter 6  
  
It wasn't until mid-morning of the next day that Spike's doubts started pummeling him. At first, he had managed to keep his thoughts off that pivotal conversation with Buffy. He had even managed to finally finish the translation he'd been struggling with, and had presented it to Wes and received a bit of praise for his work. He had been coming back from Wes' office, prepared to work on the next order of business, when he caught a glimpse of Buffy as he walked past Angel's office.   
  
He didn't go inside; they had said their goodbyes last night, and really, what else was there to say? He had admitted that he believed she loved him, and she knew that he didn't want a relationship with her. They had parted as friends. There was nothing more to say.  
  
His heart seemed to disagree with that assessment, and provided several choices as to what he could say. 'I love you.' 'I'm in love with you.' 'I want to be with you for as long as I can.'   
  
He shook his head in frustration, nearly stomping his way back to his office. He made himself work on the most detail-oriented task in his inbox--an inventory of demons known to have frequented the Los Angeles area in the last six months, and their security risk--to keep his mind from wandering. Yet he still kept getting flashes of things. Like Buffy's eyes, when she was waiting for his confession. And her hands, playing with the coffee cup. The way her back arched as she executed a flip. The way her lips curved up into a smile, a real smile where her eyes lit up with happiness.   
  
Spike groaned and leaned back in his chair. Before he could do anything else, a knock sounded on his door. Hoping for once that his karma was giving him a break, he called out, "Come in."  
  
Gunn poked his head around the door. "Hey. Angel wants to take all of us, including a certain Slayer, out to lunch. You in?"  
  
Spike shook his head, and tried to adopt a distracted manner. "No, I'm buried with work since I had to take all that time to prep for the ritual last night."  
  
Gunn nodded slowly, and then said, "You're avoiding her again."  
  
Spike looked up at Gunn. "No, I'm not avoiding her. We said our goodbyes last night, so there's really nothing more to say."  
  
"Uh-huh," Gunn said, his voice skeptical. He stepped into the room, and closed the door. "You want to try that again?"  
  
"Guess you're not buying it, huh?" Spike conceded.  
  
"Not in the least," Gunn said. He crossed over and picked up the phone, and then said, "Yeah, Angel, Spike can't make it, and actually, I'm gonna stay and talk to him about an upcoming project I need some assistance on. Give the Slayer my regards."   
  
He dropped the phone back on the cradle, took off his suit jacket and laid it on the sofa, then sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. "You ever know that Fred and I dated?"  
  
Spike moved the stack of papers out of his lap and dropped them on the side table. "No, I didn't. Although I wondered what was going on between you two during the meeting yesterday."  
  
"Thought you'd have picked up on that," Gunn said. He sighed. "We went out for about a year, I guess. And at first, it was great. Like something out of a movie. We were like two kids. But I had lived on the streets, and Fred had spent five years in Pylea. We had both grown up fast, so when we got involved, it was like some great first love. We were so disgusting together, that Cordelia once said if she was a diabetic, she'd go into sugar shock if we were around." Gunn smiled nostalgically.   
  
"I'm guessing things didn't turn out so well?" Spike questioned, propping his feet up on the coffee table.   
  
"Nope," Gunn said. "We found out that a professor that Fred had idolized had been the one who opened the portal that sent her to Pylea. She wanted revenge, naturally, but I didn't want her to do it. I thought that it would break something in her, to take that kind of action. But she went ahead, and she was set to take that step. She had him open a portal, and was all ready to make him jump. And I stepped in, broke the guy's neck, and tossed him in."   
  
"That was the end?" Spike asked in concern.  
  
"We'd been having problems anyway," Gunn said. "But that put the proverbial nail in the coffin, if you'll excuse the pun." He leaned back on the sofa. "So you wanna tell me what happened last night? When exactly did you say these goodbyes?"  
  
Spike slouched down deeper into the cushions of his chair. "She was waiting for me when I got back here last night. She asked me to go talk with her somewhere, and said if I did, she'd let me off the hook today. So we went to that place around the corner, and we talked some." He paused, and then went ahead and said it. "I told her that I believed her."  
  
"Believed what?" Gunn asked.  
  
"That she loves me."  
  
Gunn sat up with a start. "What? Why the hell aren't you dancing for joy? Or, for that matter, dancing on the mattress? I thought that was what you wanted."  
  
"That was what I wanted once! Not now!" Spike said angrily, before he got up and began pacing around the room. "If she had said that to me two years ago, a year ago, I would have thought I'd dust from the happiness. To finally know that she was mine, after all those years of wanting her, loving her . . . " He paused, and imagined how things might have turned out if things had worked out that way. Who knows where he'd be now? With Buffy, hopefully, but there were no guarantees. One of them, both of them, could be dead now. They could have broken up just as badly as they did before. But the idea that they could have been together still, happy, in love . . .   
  
It was a sweet thought. Spike wrenched his mind from such temptation and resumed pacing. "I've worked too hard to put myself together this last year. I'm not about to throw that away by falling in love with her again, or admitting that I love her romantically. I do love her, but I want to love her like a sister."  
  
Gunn leveled him with a look. "But you don't."  
  
Spike shook his head in anger. "No, I don't. I do love her, and not in a sisterly way. Not the way I loved Dawn."  
  
"So what do you feel, then?"  
  
Spike slumped back into his chair. "I admire her and respect her. I enjoy talking with her. We've got such a history between us that we banter just as well as we fight together. I think she's one of the most beautiful people, inside and out, that I've ever encountered, and that's because of her flaws. They make her beautiful."  
  
Gunn nodded. "So, all in all, you love her like a friend."  
  
"I kissed her last night." Before Gunn could say anything, he rushed ahead. "It was on the cheek. She had just hugged me, and it seemed like the thing to do. And it was nice, you know. I . . . I feel like I lead her on, when I didn't know my own feelings." He laughed bitterly. "Looks like the tables have been turned a bit."  
  
"So, you love her like a friend, but you're attracted to her, right?" Spike didn't reply, only nodded. "Okay," Gunn said.  
  
Silence followed Gunn's words, and Spike closed his eyes, trying to unravel what this all meant. What if . . . what if he considered it? Told her he'd follow her once again, be willing to take on the challenges? What would happen? Would there be anything of him left at the end? Or would it end up, like he once predicted, with nothing of him left, and only her in a dead shell?  
  
Gunn seemed to have been thinking in the interim, and suddenly said, "You know what I've realized about my relationship with Fred?" He didn't wait for Spike's answer before continuing. "I think that I didn't really love her. I was in love with her, I think. But I was also in love with the kind of person I was when I was with her."  
  
"Sounds a bit muddled, mate," Spike noted.   
  
Gunn shrugged. "Whoever said love was clear-cut? The best thing I can offer is something I read not too long ago. It was some discussion of divorce proceedings in a clan of Kantar-Llysten demons. The case hinged on the semantic difference between 'I love you' and 'I'm in love with you.' The findings of the court stated, in nice, plain language that the difference was this: 'I'm in love with you' indicates the emotional state of the speaker, how they feel about the other party and how they relate to their mate. 'I love you' indicates something that the speaker saw in the other individual."  
  
Spike opened his eyes, and stared at Gunn. "'I love you' is unselfish, while 'I'm in love with you' is selfish?"  
  
Gunn shrugged. "That's one way to look at it. More like you say 'I love you' without expecting anything in return, but that's not the case with 'I'm in love with you.'" Gunn assessed Spike. "You look like you've got some thinking to do. I'll leave you to it, then," he said, moving towards the door.  
  
Spike recovered his wits enough to realize what Gunn was saying, and quickly said, "Wait, Gunn--"  
  
The other man paused, halfway out the door. Spike looked at him, realizing that this man, so different from him, had become the only male friend he'd ever had. He almost said that, but halted his words and merely said, "Thanks, Charles," with a nod of his head.  
  
Gunn smiled. "Just doing my part for romance," he said with a wink, before pulling the door shut behind him.  
  
At the word 'romance,' Spike's brain froze up. Romance . . . was that what he wanted with Buffy? All his protests aside, did he want them to be a couple? He had been so focused on resisting her that he had made himself try not to think of the alternative.   
  
'And why is that?' he thought to himself. 'I spent so much time insisting that I was over her. Was I just trying to tell myself that?'  
  
Spike stood and once again began pacing around the room. He tried to be reasonable and consider things from different angles. Buffy loved him. She'd seemed more hopeful about her future than he'd ever seen her. She'd taken his rebuff well, and seemed willing to be friends with him if that was all he was going to offer her. All in all, it seemed like Buffy had finally finished the long process of growing up. She was baked, to use that stupid metaphor.   
  
'Whereas you are half-baked if you're considering what I think you're considering,' he thought to himself. He knew that if he went to Buffy and asked her if it was too late, she'd say it wasn't. That they could have a relationship, and it'd be talks and laughs and sex. For a while. But what would happen if he disagreed with her? Or made her mad? Would he be left all alone when she finally left him?   
  
He had spent a lot of time considering his past in the last year. Going over his decisions, his choices. It seemed that his life was lived reacting instead of acting. Poor Spike, always so emotional and sensitive, no matter how hard he worked to push most of his feelings deep down. The feelings just came out in different ways. In his love of the fight. In the obsessiveness of his love. In his wit and in his conversation. The feelings were all there. The time he had spent without form had forced him to start considering things. Looking at his actions, and seeing how another course might have yielded better results. This sort of pondering came more easily with his soul, but he'd never had the time in Sunnydale to work these things out for himself. He was just starting when the First made its last push.   
  
He knew that he had changed in the last year. Had grown a bit more reflective, a bit more cautious. Tried to pause in non-fighting situations to assess the different outcomes. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? In a fight, he had decades of experience to carry him through any tight spots. But in the rest of his life, he really only had two years of knowledge to help him make choices. Was it wrong that he chose to hesitate instead of act?  
  
Spike felt a pain in his hand. He looked down in confusion, and saw that his hand was half-buried in the sheetrock. In the midst of his pacing, he'd slammed his fist into the wall.  
  
"Ouch," he said, frowning in confusion. Then, he felt his anger rise. What the hell was he doing? Who the hell had he become, that he'd sit around and brood and worry about what-ifs, when he could be hashing it out with Buffy right now?   
  
With a start, he realized that he had avoided talking to her about what she would want out of a relationship, because he feared he'd accept her terms without question and go along. And inevitably, such acceptance would lead to becoming her faithful lackey once again. But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to follow that pattern. Maybe there was a chance he'd be able to be her equal in this. He had painfully learned how to be his own man this last year. That was what Buffy needed: a man who didn't need her to complete him, but needed her to complement him.   
  
He yanked his hand from the wall with a grimace, and ignored the blood and dust on his hand. Throwing open the door of his office, he stalked down the hall. His expression must have been truly threatening, considering the number of people who took one look at him and then stepped out of his way. Spike didn't care, though; his goal was clear. Find Buffy, talk to her, find out if she was willing to take a chance and go slow with him. Because he wanted to do this right, this time.  
  
He checked Angel's office and found it empty, as he expected. Spying Harmony out of the corner of his eye, he made his way over to her desk.   
  
"Harm, where did Angel take Buffy for lunch?"  
  
She shrugged. "Dunno. They were doing lunch with Wes and Fred, and then Angel was going to take her over to Fred's to pick up her bags and then, off to the airport."  
  
"The airport?" Spike said, checking his watch and realizing it was 2:30. Buffy had said she'd be leaving for LAX around 4. Did he have enough time?  
  
Harmony was prattling away, but her words suddenly caught his attention. " . . . she seemed so sad, which is funny, since Angel isn't making her sad, you know?"  
  
"What?" he said. "What do you mean, Angel isn't making her sad?"  
  
"Duh, Buffy was so melodramatic in high school about Angel. 'Oh, I love him so much, but he's bad. Oh, he's killing people! Oh, I can't be with him, even though I love him.' So boring," Harmony said with an eye roll. "But now, it's like she's so incredibly sad, she can't even talk about it."  
  
Spike looked at her in confusion. "Why do you think she's sad? How can you tell?"  
  
"You just have to look at her, dumbass. She's sad because the man she's in love with is a dumbass. Gee, how coincidental that you, and the guy she loves, are dumbasses. Wait a minute!" Harmony said with a grin. "*You're* the dumbass she's in love with."  
  
"Okay, okay, I know. Does Angel have his cell phone?"  
  
Harmony raised an eyebrow. "Angel? Cell phone? We are talking about the vampire who last week said he missed telegrams?"  
  
Spike groaned, and quickly grabbed Harmony's phone, punching in the number to Angel's cell phone. It rang several times, and he was nearly ready to hang up and try Fred's phone, when he heard a click and Angel's voice.  
  
"Um, hello?"  
  
"Angel, it's Spike. Don't let anyone know you're talking to me. Are you still eating lunch?"  
  
He could sense that Angel was being guarded, and for more than the obvious reason, when he spoke. "Yes. We're just about done right now."  
  
"All right. Tell me where you are, and then stall. Make the Slayer order dessert--she shouldn't be worrying about calories and grams of saturated fat. I need to talk to her before she leaves."  
  
"Are you sure about this?"   
  
"I've never been more sure," Spike said. "And don't even think about sending me to the wrong restaurant. I know what you tried to do to Buffy last night, and you're not gonna manipulate us out of seeing each other now."  
  
Angel sighed heavily. "I know. She's given me hell for that. I can understand now why you didn't stake me, if this was what you'd have had to suffer through afterwards. We're at Limoncello--it's about six blocks down. You know how to get here?"  
  
"Yeah--there's a manhole right by the back door of the place, isn't there?"   
  
"Yes," Angel said. "Talk to you later."  
  
Spike tossed the phone down, and said, "See you, Harmony," dropping a kiss on her cheek.   
  
"Don't be a dumbass!" she called after him.  
  
***  
  
Spike moved slowly into the restaurant, looking for Buffy. He finally spied her, sitting at a table tucked away into a corner. She was alone, and finishing off what looked to be a massive chocolate dessert of some kind.  
  
He paused, and just looked at her for a moment. God, she was beautiful. She had been all he wanted for so long that sometimes he couldn't help but wonder at how she was so many things, all rolled up in one package. And he loved all of those parts of her. Even the ones that annoyed or infuriated him or even scared him a little. She was Buffy. And he loved her. And he was tired of denying that. Tired of resisting his feelings and telling himself that he needed to stay remote and alone. After a year of hard struggle, he knew who he was. He was a man. And he was in love.  
  
He casually strolled over, and said, "Dining all alone?"  
  
She looked up at him, and he could see her eyes widen in surprise. "Spike? What are you doing here?"  
  
He slid into a chair next to her, and said, "I was in the neighborhood. Where did everyone else go?"  
  
Buffy stammered a bit. "W-Wes and Fred went back to the office. They walked. Angel went to get his car so he could take me to the airport."  
  
Spike nodded. "But you've got a bit of time now, haven't you?"  
  
She nodded, staring at him.   
  
He cleared his throat, and tried to swallow the lump that was forming. "I know we said our goodbyes yesterday, but I was thinking . . . "  
  
"Yes?" Buffy said, her voice confused and cautious.   
  
Spike reached over, and took one of her hands. "Well, you see, I was thinking about what you've said to me while you've been in L.A. About how you love me. I don't know how I don't remember what happened when we were in the Hellmouth, but your love came as a bit of a shock to me. I know I've said I love you, but I think we both know that I didn't mean it in the same way you meant it."  
  
Buffy ducked her head, and said "Yes," in a small voice.   
  
Spike continued. "Like I said, I was thinking earlier today. Going back and forth on this issue. Because my love for you was changing a bit. Getting a bit . . . deeper. I kept telling myself that I couldn't throw away all the struggle I've gone through, to become my own man and stand on my own. I thought that if I admitted I love you, the same way you love me, that I'd be back to where I was before. But then, I realized something else."  
  
Buffy was still looking down at the table, at the remains of her dessert. Her hand in his was like ice. She was so still, he wondered if she was still breathing. If he had ever needed a sign of how much she wanted this, him, here it was. And he didn't want her to wait any longer to find out his feelings.  
  
"You know what I realized, Buffy?" he asked, using his other hand to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him.   
  
She shook her head, the tears in her eyes making them glitter. He smiled at her, and slid his hand from her chin to her cheek, cradling her face.   
  
"I realized I think too much," he said, before he leaned in and kissed her.   
  
Soft warm lips pressed against his own, still for a moment before coming to life under his. He felt her hand in his hair, tugging him closer, heard her small moan before he pulled away from her. A tear had streaked down her cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb.  
  
"I, I can't believe this," Buffy said, smiling at him. "Oh, God, I love you so much." She leaned in to kiss him again, but then jerked back before making contact. "Are you sure? I mean, really really sure? Because there's lots of things I want if we're involved."  
  
Spike sighed a bit, and dropped his hand from her face. "What kind of things do you want?" he asked, part of him hoping her demands wouldn't be too much for his new self-respect to take.  
  
Buffy pressed her lips together at the change in his body language, but sat up in her chair. "First, I'd like to spend some time dating. Going out to dinner, spending time together, talking. Like normal people."  
  
"Well, we're not exactly normal," he said with a frown.   
  
She nodded. "I know. I want us to go patrolling together, too. I missed fighting with you. I mean, not with you with you, but together . . . oh, you know what I mean," Buffy said in frustration. "I want us to talk, about how we're feeling. I want to walk down the street with you holding your hand. I want to make out with you on that sofa in your office. I want to hear you call me your girlfriend."  
  
"All nice things, pet, but what about what I want?"  
  
She stared at him in confusion. "What, did you think it was only about what I wanted? Do you think I'm going to make the same mistakes twice? I want us to be in a real relationship this time, with all the good and bad stuff that comes with it. I don't want to be all selfish-Buffy. If anything, you're owed a lot of listening time from me. That's what I meant about talking and sharing, you dumbass!"  
  
Spike couldn't help laughing at her words. He could see she was getting angry and frustrated with his laughter, but he couldn't help it. He was so happy he had to laugh. Because she got it. She thought they were equals in this.   
  
And he just tumbled more in love with her than he ever thought he'd be.  
  
"I love you, too," he said through his laughter, before pulling her in for a kiss. She was a bit stiff at first, but softened quickly. He pulled back again, and rested his forehead against hers. "I want all those things, too. I want you to work with me. I want to help you with your schoolwork. I want to overhear you chatting with your mates about how bloody wonderful I am. I want to live with you and argue about who pays the electric bill this month. I want you to complain I'm spending too much time with my friends, but secretly you're happy that I have friends. And I want to kiss you for a solid week."  
  
Buffy sighed a bit, and said, "Everyone's going to think we're crazy."  
  
Spike shook his head. "Nah. They'll say we finally came to our senses."  
  
She giggled a bit, and pulled away, but not without latching onto his hand and holding it tightly. "I guess I don't need to worry about making that plane, huh?"  
  
He sighed. "It's up to you, luv. You may have some things to take care of before you can move willy-nilly. I don't fancy the idea of moving back to the mother country, myself. I like Los Angeles. And if you missed it, I did kinda ask you to move in with me, at least eventually. So what do you say, Slayer? Want to give L.A. a try?"  
  
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her propped-up hand. "Sure. Because you're here." A dazzling smile lit up her face, and she said, "Now, how about we go back to your place, and I make a few calls, and then we get to work on that week of kissing?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment. He wondered if that was giving in to her too much, if this was just the first step down a slippery slope, back towards being love's bitch. Maybe he should insist that she go back to England, break the news, make plans to come back in a few weeks. A long-distance relationship for a few weeks would be taking it slow, and that's what they wanted, right?   
  
But then Buffy lightly slapped his hand, and said, "You're thinking too much. Kiss me."  
  
Spike couldn't help it. He grinned at her, and said, "Yes, ma'am." And they kissed until Angel arrived and interrupted them, only to go right back to kissing as Angel shook his head and left them there.  
  
End, Putting the Question 


End file.
